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rADINCx FLOWERS. 



BY 



META LANDER, >l4j;i^, 



AUTHOR OF "the BKOKEN BU^," "BLOSSOMS OF CHILDHOOD,' 
" LIGHT ON THE DARK IIIVEK," ETC, 



^ 







BOSTON: 
J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY, 

1860. 



-53 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 

J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY, 

iu the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



University Press, Cambridge : 
Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigclow, and Company. 



^- 



-^ 



'S& 



" Mother, mother ! 
I tremble in thy close embrace, — 
I feel thy tears adown my face, — 
Thy prayers do keep me out of bliss, — 

O dreary earthly love ! 
Loose thy prayer, and let me go 
To the place which loving is, 
Yet not sad ! and when is given 
Escape to thee from this below, 
Thou shalt behold me that I wait 
For thee beside the happy gate ; 
And silence shall be up in heaven 

To hear our greeting kiss." 

E. B. Browning. 



a$ — . • ^ 



^- 



T H m WHO, 

WITH UNWEARIED TENDERNESS, 

SHARED MY SAD VIGILS OVER OUR DEPARTED CHILD, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 



^ — 



n — ■ n 



INTEODUCTION. 



These materials were collected after experience had 
taught me their yaliie ; and I send them forth upon 
their mission, with the earnest hope that they may illu- 
mine many a dwelling darkened by the approach of 
the great Shadow. 

I have attempted some classification, that the mother, 
ill her vigils, may the more easily turn to what she needs. 
There are a few pieces, however, in which the variant 
shades of thought are so blended, that it is difficult to 
arrange them. In such instances, I have followed the 
leading idea. 

May this little book, on the wings of sympathy, bear 
strength to hearts fainting under the presage of bitter 



^- 



^- 



-93 



INTRODUCTION. 



sorrow. And, soothed by its spirit of heavenly trust, 
and by its breathings to Him who wounds that He may 
heal, may they 

" Take courage to entrust their love 
To Him so Named, who guards above 

Its ends, and shall fulfil; 
Breaking the narrow prayers, that may 
Befit their narrow hearts, away 

In His broad, loving wUl.'* 



^ 



^Sg 



CONTENTS 






PAGE 

The Angel's Call J/rs. Hemans. ... 1 

Little Children knocking at the Gate of 

Heaven 3 

The Lullaby W. AlUngham. . . 6 

Life and Death Christ. Parbr 3fag. 7 

A Fragjient Allston 10 

The Entrance Anna 11 

Our Child- Angel, Carrie Clavde Iris. ... 13 



Grace Vernon A. Allin 15 

Treasures in Heaven Christ. Parior Mag. 17 

The Angel and the Child 20 

Early Lost, early Saved George W. Bethune. 23 

Our Blue-Eyed Boy Alice Carey. ... 26 

Little Nell Ilrs. R. S. Nichols. . 29 

The Dying Girl 31 

The Wee White Kose Gerald Massey. . . 32 



?g 



Xll CONTENTS. 



The Nipped Flower 36 

Lily-Bell J. Westwoocl ... 38 

The Boy of Heaven Mrs. Hoivitt. ... 40 

The Christmas Story Richard M. Milnes. . 47 

A Picture of Memory Alice Carey. ... 56 

Passing Away B. F. B 58 

Little Paul Bayard Taylor. . . 60 

Dying, still slowly dying 62 

The Morning-Glory 3Iana Loioell. ... 64 

Nellie Alice Gary. ... 67 

Carrie C. M. Mason. ... 69 

The Whispering Angel R. B. E. .... 72 

The Death-Bed Thomas Hood. . . 74 

The Mother to her Sick Child ...... Bernard Barton. . . 76 

And must Thou die? Songs in the Night. . 79 

Go TO thy Sleep, my Child Mrs. Sigourney. . . 81 

Charles James C. Sprague. ... 83 

To WiLLiABi W. B. 0. Peabody. . 86 

Sinking into Death 90 

He will watch Thee now G. W. Betlmne. . . 93 

A Mother over her Child devoted to Death . 3Irs. S. H. Coleridge. 95 

Wee Willie Br. Moir 97 

How SHALL I P.EAR THE HoUR ? 100 

My Sweet One Alaric A. Watts. . 103 

Thy Arms are rount) Me Mrs. Sigourney. . . 108 

I\Iy Little Patient Boy Leigh Hunt. . . .111 

Haste to Depart 114 

That Wasted Form 117 



m- 



-sg 



CONTENTS, 



XIU 



The Consenting Mother Mrs. Sigourney. . 

The Blind Boy ■^''- linwJces. . . 

A Ballad J^«^'2/ ^owitt. . . 

At Eest ^- -f* 

Little Leonard's Last Good-night C Boides Southey. 

Nelly's Request M''^- Sigourney. . 

The lilAY Queen -4?/recZ Tennyson. 

Nothing but Love ^''s. Sigourney. . 

The Dying Child's Request Ja^mes Montgomery. 

Little Allie 

Let me go! 

Mother, I'M tired From tlie German. 

Little Bessie A. D. F. R. . . 

They beckon me away G- ^- Fmerson. . 

TAKE ME FROM THIS RoOM EdwCtrd W. Cox. 

The Last Wishes 

Not Alone Margaret Junlin. 

My Heart is Faint ^f^ry Bowitt. . . 

Weep not Cecil 

The Boy and the Angel ^'s. Sawyer. . . 

1 AM content to die, BUT Oil! NOT NOW ! . . . Mrs. Norton. . . 

The dying Blind Boy to his Mother 

Nay, Mother! 

The Sick Child's Dream of Heaven .... Eobert Nicoll. . . 

Mother, fare thee well 

Sweet Mother 

Child of the Angel Wing Mrs. Nichols. . . 

The Child's Dream William C. Prime. 



. 120 

. 122 

. 126 

. 130 

. 135 

. 138 

. 142 

. 151 

. 153 

. 154 

. 157 

. 159 

. 161 

. 165 

. 171 

. 175 

. 179 

. 182 

. 186 

. 189 

. 193 

. 196 

. 200 

. 202 

. 207 

. 210 

. 213 

. 215 



-?S 



S<1 — — — ^ 

Xiv CONTENTS. 



®Ij^ "^oil^n'n (BxuL 



It breaks thy Heart Keble 218 

The Gathering Shadows 219 

Amy ; or, The Two Angels Ileia Lander. . . . 221 

This is a Mother's Grief 224 

Born but to die 226 

Ashes of Roses Frances S. Osgood. . 228 

Ah! look thy last, fond Mother 234 

0, there are Eecollections C. Bowles Southey. . 237 

He slumbers long, sweet Mother Mrs. Sigourney. . . 244 

The IMother's Sacrifice 3frs. Sigourney. . . 247 

Babie Bell Thos. Bailey Aldrkh. 249 



i^itrtiths. 



Heart-Hushings Sivan 255 

Saviour! Hear and Aid Mi^s. Hemans. . . . 256 

God's Will be done 258 

May Angels watch 261 

Let me be spared this Anguish KnkkerbocJcer. . . 264 

blessed be my Baby-Boy ! L. A. H. .... 267 

Send down Thine Angel Barry Cornwall. . . 268 

Father, SAY, " Peace ! be still!" Mrs. Hemans. . . . 270 

Forgive, forgive ! Silent Comforter. . 271 

Isobel's Child E. B. Browning. . . 272 



-ss 



^ntxalsiuttat^ "BitttB 



-HE 



THE ANGEL'S CALL. 



MRS. HE MANS, 



• Hark ! they whisper ! angels say 
Sister spirit, come away ! " 




OXdt to the land of peace ! 

Come where the tempest hath no longer 

sway, 
The shadow passes from the soul away, 
The sounds of weeping cease. 



Fear hath no dwelling there ! 
Come to the mingling of repose and love, 
Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove, 

Throusfh the celestial air. 



^- 



THE angel's call. 



Come to the bright and blest. 
And crowned for ever ! — 'midst that shining band, 
Gathered to lieaven's own wreath from every land, 

Thy spirit shall find rest. 

In that divine abode, 
Change finds no pathway, memory no dark trace. 
And oh ! bright victory, — death by love no place ! 

Come, spirit, to thy God ! 




SS- 



-m 



LITTLE CHILDREN 



KNOCKING AT THE GATE OF HEAVEN. 




IXXlx ! at Heaven's crystal gates 
Little hands are faintly sounding, 
^ While a guardian angel waits, 

All her soul with rapture bound- 
ing; 
To that angel it is given, 

For her holy life on earth, 
To receive three babes in Heaven, 
In their new, celestial birth. 

Timid hand at first essays 

To undo the portal fair. 
And the angel veils the blaze 

Of the glory everywhere. 



^- 



LITTLE CHILDREN KNOCKINa 



"I am lonely, I am lonely, 
Now I see no darling brother. 

No fond father ; angel only, 

Take, take me to my mother I " 



But the angel, with caresses, 

Gently leads the cherub in, 
And the young immortal blesses, 

Saved from sorrow and from sin. 
Soon the little stranger's fright 

Passes like a cloud away. 
While the day that knows no night 

Shines upon her heavenly play. 



Hark again ! a gentle tap 

Echoes through the angel's heart. 
And the child upon her lap 

In her sacred joy has part. 
Little arms enfold the stranger. 

Little lips the kiss have given : 
" Here 's no sorrow, here 's no danger ! 

Darling sister, this is Heaven ! " 



^.- 



-sg 



AT THE GATE OF HEAVEN. 



Yet again, and louder sounding, 

Falls a knock on Heaven's gate, 
And the infant cherubs, bounding. 

Will not let their brother wait. 
Eyes that closed in weariness, 

Lips that murmured sad farewell. 
Open on celestial bliss 

With the sisters loved so well. 



Now their angel, with delight. 

Leads them onward, hand in hand. 
And reveals, to eager sight. 

Glories of the spirit-land. 
Happy children, thus to flee 

Early to their home above ! 
Happy those below, to be 

Upward drawn by cords of love. 



5g 



THE LULLAEY. 



W. ALLINGHAM. 




StliO' two children hushed to death, 
In lap of one with silver wings, 

Holding a lute, whose latest breath 
Still lingered on the trembling strings. 



face was very pale and fair, 
And from her hooded eyes was shed 
love celestial, and her hair 
Was like a crown around her head. 



No smallest wave will she displace, 

That fills the lute's faint-ebbing strain ; 

The notes seem echoed from her face. 
And echoed back from theirs again. 



^- 



LIFE AND DEATH 



CHRISTIAN PARLOR MAGAZINE 



-sa 




Vi its bed 

A baby sleeps ; 
By its head 

The mother weeps ; 
Angels fan them with their breath, 
One is Life, and one is Death : 
Life holds up in snowy arms 
Her rich cup of coming charms, 
Whispering, " Stay ! 
Soon the day 
Of youth will light thee with its ray ; 
Pleasures shine, 
Love be thine, 
Beauty, beauty, and light for aye. 



^- 



'1^ 



LIFE AND DEATH. 



Death is dreary, 

Death is weary, 
I am bright as summer day ; 

Death is trackless, 

Filled with blackness, — 
Mortal, stay ! " 
Life then twines her rosy fingers. 
Listening while the spirit lingers. 



" Life, Life, tliy joys are cheating ! 
Life, Life, thy charms are fleeting ! 

Bitter tears, 

Lonely fears, 
Will dim thy way : 
Heed not, stay not, haste with me, 
Offspring of mortality. 
Where the joys of glory stream, 
Where the lights of glory beam ; 

Ever sparkling. 

Never darkling, 

Evanescent 

As the present. 
Is Life's gladness ; 



^- 



s& 



LIFE AND DEATH, 



Evanescent 
As the present 

Is Death's sadness. 
Heaven's banners are o'er thee, 
Heaven's bliss is before thee, — 
Come away ! " 



The angels spread their wings and fled ; 
The mother lifted np her head ; 
The baby slept not, — it was dead ! 



r-^-^-O^^. 







-^ 



A FRAGMENT. 



FROM THE ANGEL AND CHILD. 



ALLSTON. 



ItU then another form beside it stood : 
'T was one of this our world, though the 

warm blood 
Had from it passed, — exhaled as in a 

breath, 
Drawn from its lips by the cold kiss of 
Death. 
Its little " dream of human life " had fled ; 
And yet it seemed not numbered with the 
dead. 

But one emerging to a life so bright. 
That, as the wondrous nature o'er it spread. 
Its very consciousness did seem to shed 
Rays from within, and clothe it all in light. 




g$- 



-5g 



THE ENTRANCE, 



ANNA. 



tl0l'^t a glorious mansion 

A small child sat him down, 

In radiance brightly shining, 
While other lights had flown ; 

He looked and longed to ent^r, 
But lingered on the stone. 



Then passers-by came, telling 
The place was not for him. 

And sought to lead him outward 
Into the darkness dim ! 

But still he gazed and listened 
Unto the peaceful hymn, — 




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12 



THE ENTRANCE. 



That now and then came swelling 

Upon the stilly air, 
Forth from the shining dwelling 

That looked so wondrous fair ; 
And the child's soft steps drew nearer,' 

He wished that rest to share. 



Then a gentle voice rose, saying, 
" Forbid him not to come ! " 

And the little child was welcomed 
Unto that heavenly home ! 

They missed him from the threshold, 
But knew not where he 'd gone ! 



S5- 



sg 



OUR CHILD-ANGEL, CARRIE. 

i?^ CLAUDE IRIS. 

rtSJjijT the pale-faced Dawning woke 

tlie flowers to brighter "bloom, 
Glimmering through the windows in our 
sorrow-haunted room, 
While our cherished bud of beautj rested on 
her little bed, 
^.S^o With her pale hands meekly folded, drooping 
1v^^^-^ her weary head. 




Slowly the warm light faded from those eyes so dark and 
deep ; — 

Colder the brow and whiter, as softly she fell asleep. 

Hushed were our sobs of anguish 'mid the solemn, deepen- 
ing gloom. 

For a holy angel waved his raven pinions in the room. 



^ . — ^^ ■ Sg 

14 OUK CHILD-ANGEL, CARRIE. 

Ended the days of watching ! Hope, with her rainbow 

Avings, 
To our throbbing hearts no more seraphically sings, 
Since those little feet have ceased their music on the stair, 
Since the sweet young face hath vanished, with its curls 

of floating hair. 

Yet day by day we 're toiling through our duties, one by 

one, — 
Only note the flitting hours by the moving of the sun, — 
While beside the crystal river, far beyond this billowy 

main, • 
The fair child-angel, Carrie, waits to welcome us again. 




-53 



©i^Hs akx Skli mxH Jgimj: Ci^iltrmt. 




-. GRACE YERNON. 

A. ALLIN. 

^tnt and fainter grew her breathing, 

Brighter glowed the beaming eye ; 
And I felt, though no one told me. 
That our little Grace must die. 
Yet I knew, though earth must lose her. 
When her earthly life was o'er, 
^^ Set within the crown of Jesus, 

There would shine one jewel more. 



O'er her face a glow was spreading, 
Lighting up the meek blue eyes ; 

And her lip, in silent whispers. 
Murmured to the listening skies. 



''Jl- 



16 



GRACE VERNON. 



Brighter beamed the glow, and brighter, 
All withdrawn from human care ; 

As though an angel stirred the spirit, 
Till the face shone like a prayer ! 

With her head upon my shoulder, 

And her hand within my own. 
Through the midnight watch I held her. 

Till I knew myself alone. 
In the earliest gray of morning. 

At the first faint flush of day. 
One more star shone out in Heaven, — 

One from earth had passed away. 




'm- 



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TREASURES IN HEAYEN. 



CHEISTIAN PARLOR MAGAZINE. 




inOtuCt died, and the home where once 
The light of her love had smiled 

Held naught to gladden the widowed 
heart, 
Save the care of a motherless child ; 

And that care grew into a doating love 
For his gentle, fair-faced boy, 

Who brightened again that cheerless home 
With the voice and smile of joy. 



But a shadow fell on the child's glad brow. 
And a light gleamed in his eye, — 

'T was pure and mild as the blue that breaks 
Through the clouds of a summer sky. 



^- 



18 TREASURES IN HEAVEN. 

'T was his mother's eye, — and like her he grew, 

More beautiful in decay, 
While the shadow of heaven deeper fell, 

As he drooped and pined away. 

And the father tended his fading flower 

With more than a father's care. 
And night by night at his pillow watched, 

In silence, with tears and prayer. 

One night, when softly the slumbering boy 

Lay folded to his fond breast, 
Sleep fell on the weary watcher's eyes, 

And long and quiet was his rest ! 

In a dream of that night a vision came, 

And hovered around his bed ; 
'T was the face of the dead, but an angel form. 

With a glory around its head. 

And o'er him it bent its angel face. 
And the boy from his bosom took, 

With a smile like that which had beamed on him 
With her latest word and look. 



^ 

TREASURES IN HEAA^EN. 19 

Then a strain of music, heavenly sweet, 

Through the stilhiess softly broke, — 
Then a voice like an angel's whispering 

From the lips of the spirit spoke. 

" Thy treasures arc all in heaven," it said, 

" Let thy heart be also there ; " 
He strove to grasp the receding form, 

And clasped but the empty air. 

He woke, and the cheek his hand had touched 

Was clammy, and cold, and chill ; 
The little arm, half round him thrown. 

Was lifeless, and stiff, and still. 

He thought of the vision, and o'er his soul 

A hallowing calm he felt ; 
Yet he bowed his head o'er his child, and wept. 

Ere down by the couch he knelt. 

He knelt : — ^'0 God ! thou hast taken back 

What but for a time was given. 
Teach me to bow to thy will on earth, — 

My treasures are safe in heaven ! " 



gs- 



-^ 



THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. 




Jt angel form, with brow of light, 

Watched o'er a sleeping infant's 
dream, 

And gazed, as though his image bright 
He there beheld as in a stream. 



Fair child, whose face is like to mine, 
come," he said, " and fly with me ; 
Come forth to happiness divine. 
For earth is all unworthy thee. 



" Here perfect bliss thou canst not know 
The soul amid its pleasure sighs ; 

All sounds of joy are full of woe ; 
Enjoyments are but miseries. 



2^- 



THE AXGEL AND TIU: CHILD. 21 



" Fear stalks amid the gorgeous shows ; 

And thougli serene the day may rise, 
It lasts not brilliant to its close, 

And tempests sleep in calmest skies. 

" Alas ! shall sorrow, doubts, and fears 

Deform a brow so pure as this ? — 
And shall the bitterness of tears 

Dim those blue eyes that speak of bliss ? 

" No, no ! along the realms of space, 

Far from all care, let us be gone ; 
Kind Providence shall give thee grace 

For those few years thou might' st live on. 

" No mourning weeds, no sounds of wail, 

Tliy chainless spirit shall annoy ; 
Thy kindred shall thy absence hail, 

Even as thy coming gave them joy. 

" No cloud on any brow shall rest. 

Naught speak of tombs or sadness there ; 

Of beings like thee, so pure and blest. 
The latest hour should be most fair." 

?4 ■ — - — -1^ 



%Sr 



-^ 



22 



THE ANGEL AND THE CHILI). 



Tlie angel shook his snowy wings 

And through the fields of ether sped, 

Where heaven's eternal music rings. — 
Mother, alas ! thy boy is dead ! 




^- 



^ _ 5^ 




EARLY LOST, EARLY SAYED. 

GEORGE W. BETHUNE. 

rJipXlT her downy cradle there lay a little 
cliild, 
^v., wr i\w» 'And a group of hovering angels nnseen 
M^^^'-^^s^^'^ npon her smiled ; 

A strife arose among them, a loving, holy strife, 
»jt) Which should shed the richest blessing over the 
new-born life. 

One breathed upon her features, and the babe in 
beauty grew. 
With a cheek like morning's blushes, and an eye of azure 

hue ; 
Till every one who saw her was thankful for the sight 
Of a face so sweet and radiant with ever fresh delight. 



^- 



m —^ 

24 EARLY LOST, EARLY SAVED. 

Another gave her accents and a voice as musical 

As spring-bird's joyous carol, or a rippling streamlet's fall; 

Till all who heard her laughing, or her words of childish 

grace, 
Loved as much to listen to her, as to look upon her face. 

Another brought from heaven a clear and gentle mind. 
And within the lovely casket the precious gem enshrined ; 
Till all who knew her wondered that God should be so 

good, 
As to bless with such a spirit our desert world and rude. 

Thus did she grow in beauty, in melody and truth, 
The budding of her childhood just opening into youtli. 
And to our hearts yet dearer, every moment, than before, 
She became, though we thought fondly heart could not 
love her more. 

Then out spake another angel, nobler, brighter than the 

rest, 
As with strong arm, but tender, he caught her to his breast : 
" Ye have made her all too lovely for a child of mortal 

race. 
But no shade of human sorrow shall darken o'er her face : 



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EARLY LOST, EARLY SAVED. 25 

" Ye have tuned to gladness only the accents of her tongue, 
And no wail of human anguish shall from her lips be 

wrung ; 
Nor shall the soul that shineth so purely from within 
Her form of earth-born frailty, ever know the taint of sin : 

" Lulled in my faithful bosom, I will bear her far away, 
Where there is no sin nor anguish, nor sorrow nor decay. 
And mine a gift more glorious than all your gifts shall be, — 
Lo ! I crown her happy spirit with immortality ! " 

Then on his heart our darling yielded up her gentle breath, 
For the stronger, brighter angel, who loved her best, was 
Death. 




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-52 



OUR BLUE-EYED BOY, 



ALICE CAREY. 




Xlt time in the May that is vanished, 
With a heart full of quiet joy 

I cradled to sleep in my bosom, 
Our beautiful blue-eyed boy. 



No shadow of sorrow had darkened 
His young life so lovingly fair, 

For the suns of but two little summers 
Had sprinkled their light in his hair. 

The twilight was pressing her forehead 
Down deep in the level main. 

And over the hills lay shining 
The golden hem of her train ; 



^- 



OUR BLUE-EYED BOY. 27 

AVliile under the heavy tresses, 

That swept o'er the dying day, 
The star of the eve, like a lover, 

Was hiding his blushes away. 

In the hollows that dimple the hill-sides, 

Our feet till the sunset had been. 
Where pinks with their spikes of red blossoms 

Hedged beds of blue violets in. 

And to the warm lip of the sunbeam 
The cheek of the blush-rose inclined, 

While the meek pansy gave its white bosom 
To the murmurous love of the wind. 

Where the air was one warble of music. 
Of the bird and the bright-belted bee. 

And the waves going by like swift runners, 
A-singing the songs of the sea. 

But now, in the dim fall of silence, 

I took up the boy on my knees, 
And sang him to sleep with a story 

Of the lambs 'neath the sheltering trees. 



^' 



^ ^ 

28 OUK BLUE-EYED BOY. 

Oil ! -when the green kirtle of May-time 
Again o'er the hill-tops is blown 

I shall walk the wild paths of the forests, 
And climb the steep headlands, alone ; — 

Pausing not where the slopes of the meadows 
Are yellow with cowslip beds, 

Nor where, by the wall of the garden. 
The hollyhocks lift their bright heads. 

For when the full moon of the harvest 
Stood over the summer's ripe joy, 

I held the last time to my bosom 
Our beautiful blue-eyed boy ; 

And parting away from his forehead 

The rings of a wannish gold, 
I sang him to sleep with a story 

Of the lambs of the upper fold. 

When, laying his white hands together, 
And putting his pale lips from ours. 

We trusted his feet to the pathway 
That winds through Eternity's flowers. 



-5^ 



LITTLE NELL. 



R. S. NICHOLS. 







ViXXXiQf with breezes cool and airy, 
Opened on a little fairy ; 
Ever restless, making merry, 
She, with pouting lips of cherry. 

Lisped the words she could not master, 
,Yexed that she might speak no faster. 
Laughing, running, playing, dancing, 
Mischief all her joys enhancing, — 
Full of baby-mirth and glee, 
It was a joyous sight to see 
Sweet Little Nell ! 



Summer came, the green earth's lover ! 
Ripening the tufted clover, — 



^- 



-^ 



30 LITTLE NELL. 



Calling down the glittering showers, — 
Breathing on the buds and flowers, — 
Eivalling young, pleasant May 
In a generous holiday ! 
Smallest insects hummed a tune 
Through the blessed nights of June : 
And the maiden sang her song 
Through the days so bright and long, — 
Dear Little Nell ! 

Autumn came ! the leaves were falling. 
Death the little one was calling ; 
Pale and wan she grew, and weakly ; 
Bearing all her pains so meekly, 
That to us she seemed still dearer 
As the trial-hour drew nearer. 
But she left us hopeless, lonely, 
Watching by her semblance only. 
And a little grave they made her, — 
In the churchyard cold they laid her, — 
Laid her softly down to rest. 
With a white rose on her breast, — 
Poor Little Nell ! 



a- 



-^ 



THE DYING GIRL, 




y t girl was dying. Youth and beauty, all 
Men love, or women boast of, was 
decaying : 
^) And one by one life's finest powers did fall 



Before the touch of Death, who seemed 
delaying, 
As though he 'd not the heart at once to call 
The maiden to his home ; at last, arraying 
Himself in softest guise, he came : she sighed, 
And smiling, as though a loved one whispered, — 
died. 



-m 



THE WEE WHITE ROSE 



GEEALD MASSEY. 




ii in our marriage garden 

Grew, smiling up to God, 
A bonnier flower than ever 

Sucked the green warmth of the sod. 
0, beautiful unfathomably 
Its little life unfurled ! 
Life's crown of sweetness was our wee 
White Eose of all the world. 

From out a gracious bosom 

Our bud of beauty grew ; 
It fed on smiles for sunshine. 

And tears for daintier dew. 



^- 



THE WEE WHITE ROSE. 33 

Aye nestling warm and tenderly, 

Our leaves of love were curled 
So close and close about our wee 

White Eose of all the world. 



Two flowers of glorious crimson 

Grew with our Rose of light ; 
Still kept the sweet heaven-grafted slip 

Her whiteness saintly white. 
I' the wind of life they danced with glee, 

And reddened as they whirled ; 
White, white and wondrous grew our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 



With mystical faint fragrance 

Our house of life she filled, — 
Revealed each hour some fairy tower 

Where winged Hopes might build. 
We saw — though none like us might see 

Such precious promise pearled 
Upon the petals of our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 

3 



-^ 



^ — — ■ — — — ■ 

34 THE WEE WHITE ROSE. 

But evermore the halo 

Of angel light increased, 
Like the mystery of moonlight 

That folds some fairy feast. 
Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently, 

Our darling bud uncurled, 
And dropt i' the grave — God's lap — our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 



Our rose was but in blossom ; 

Our life was but in spring ; 
When down the solemn midnight 

We heard the Spirits sing, 
" Another bud of infancy. 

With holy dews impearled ; " 
And with their hands they bore our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 



You scarce could think so small a thing 
Could leave a loss so large ; 

Her little light such shadow fling 
From dawn to sunset's marge. 

^— 



THE WEE WHITE ROSE. 



35 



111 other springs our life may be 
In bannered bloom unfurled ; 

But never, never match our wee 
White Kose of all the world. 




-^ 



ifi- 



^ 



THE NIPPED PLOWEll. 




IS sad when the full-blown rose decays, 
Or the oak's stern head is bowed ; 
And we grieve when the sun's last golden 
rays 
^ Are lost in the thick black cloud. 



But 't is sadder still, when the opening flower 
Is nipped by Death's withering touch ; 

And we grieve yet more if the dark-robed shower 
Conceal the bright morning blush. 



And yet are we sure that the beautiful bud 

Was not nipped by a merciful hand ? 
Could its delicate frame have endured the rough flood, 

Or the storm's fierce power withstand ? 



d^- 



THE NIPPED FLOWER. 



-5g 



37 



Then let us not dwell on Death's terrible dart, 

But the hand that allowed it to fall, 
And confess that the stroke which has wounded the heart 

Was aimed by the Father of all. 




-^ 



■^ 



^- 



-5^ 



LILY-BELL, 



J. WE ST WOOD. 




tU tlic flowers at eve she lay, 
Cradled soft in slumber ; 
Eyes just closed, the lashes meek 
Shadowing o'er the sunny clieek ; 
Lips by loving lips just prest, 
Smiling on their rosy rest ; 
Hands white-folded, seeming still 
With the same love-clasp to thrill ; 
Heart — ring, thou lily-bell. 
Dirges without number. 



Ring ! for sleeping 'mid the flowers, 
Death stole in and found her ; 
Sealed the eyes in mortal night. 
Changed the cheek to ghastly white ; 



g(5- 



^ _ fg 

LILY-BELL. 39 

Snatched the love-smile from the lips, 
Straightened now in cold eclipse ; 
Grasped each pale hand, that anon 
Shrank and stiffened into stone ; 
And the heart — ring, lily-bell, 
Dirges deep around her. 

Ring ! — nay, nay, earth's love might fail ! — 

See, a new smile waketh. 
Angel-smile it seemeth now. 
Lighting np lip, cheek, and brow. 
Like some new-found mystic thought. 
With a solemn gladness fraught ! 
Of God's peace that smile doth tell. 
Ay, and his dear love as well : — 
His ! cease, cease, lily-bell. 

That love ne'er forsaketh. 



-^ 



sg 



THE BOY OF HEAVEN, 



MRS. HO WITT, 




Xlt summer eve, seven little boys 
Were playing at the ball, 

Seven little boys so beautiful, 
Beside a castle wall. 



And whilst they played, another came, 
And stood among them there, — 

A little boy, with gentle eyes. 
And thick and curling hair. 

The clothes he on his body wore 
Were linen fine and white ; 

The girdle that was round his waist 
Was like the morning light. 



^ 



THE BOY OF HEAVEN. 41 



A little while he looked on them, 

Looked lovingly, and smiled, 
When unto him the eldest said, 

" Whence comest thou, fair child ? " 

" And tell us what wild woodland name 

Have they unto thee given ? " 
" They called me Willie," said he, '-' on earth ; 

They call me so in heaven. 

" My father with King David dwells, 
In the land of heaven dwells he ; 

And my gentle mother, meek and mild. 
Sits at the Virgin's knee. 

" Seven years ago to heaven we went, — 

'T was in the winter chill. 
When icy cold the winds did blow. 

And mists were on the hill. 

" But when we reached the land of heaven, 

'T was like a summer's day ; 
The skies were blue, and fragrant flowers 

All round about us lay. 



^ 



^ ^ — ^ 

42 THE BOY OP HEAVEN. 

" The land of heaven is beautiful : 

There no cold wind doth blow ; 
And fairer apples than e'er ye saw 

Within its gardens grow. 

" I 've seen the patriarchs face to face, 

The wise of every land ; 
And with the heavenly little ones 

Have wandered hand in hand, 

" Down by the golden streams of life. 

All through the forests old, 
And o'er the boundless hills of heaven. 

The lambs of God's own fold." 

Then up and spoke a little boy. 

The youngest of the seven : 
" My mother is dead, so let me go 

With thee, dear child, to heaven." 

" Alas ! " the heavenly child replied, 

" That home thou canst not win. 
If thou have an ill word on thy tongue. 

Or in thy heart a sin. 

_ — ife 



THE BOY OP HEAVEN. 43 

" The way is long and wearisome, 

Through peril great it lies ; 
With any sin upon thy sonl, 

From earth thou couldst not rise. 

" There are waters deep and wild to pass ; 

And who hath a load of sin, 
Like the heavy rock that will not float, 

Is tumbled headlong in. 

" There are red and raging fires to pass ; 

And like the iron-stone 
Is sin, — red-hot as a burning share, 

It scorcheth to the bone. 

" Barest thou go with me ? Wilt try the path. 

Now thou its pain dost know ? " 
The motherless boy turned round and wept. 

And said, " I dare not go." 

The boy of heaven to a chamber came, 

Ere rosy day was peeping, 
And marvelled if his sister 't were 

Who on the ground lay sleeping. 

as ^ 



— ^ — — 5g 

44 THEBOYOF HEAVEN. 

She used to have a bed of down, 

And silken curtains bright ; 
But he knew her by her dainty foot, 

And httle hand so white ; 

He knew her by the long fair hair 

That on her shoulders lay. 
Though the pleasant things about the room 

Were taken all away. 

And " Oh ! " sighed he, " my sister dear. 

Art thou left all alone ? " 
Just then she spoke in troubled dreams. 

And made a gentle moan. 

" They have taken from me my bed of down. 

And given me straw instead ; 
They have taken from me the wheaten cakes, 

And given me barley bread. 

" The pearls which my dear mother wore 

They have taken from me away. 
And the little book with silver clasps 

Wherefrom I learned to pray. 



a- 



THE BOYOF HEAVEN. 45 

" My heart is grown as heavy as lead, 

And pale and thin my cheek ; 
I sit in corners of the house, 

And hardly dare to sj^eak. 

" For they are stern, and love me not ; 

No gentle hearts are here : 
I wish I were in heaven above. 

With my own brother dear ! " 

Then Willie bent down unto the ground, 

And knelt upon his knee ; 
He breathed heaven's breath upon her lips, 

And gave her kisses three. 

And tenderly he looked on her, 

And yet he looked not long, 
Ere he spoke three words into her ear. 

Three awful words and strong. 

Then Annie rose from her bed of straw, 

A joyful angel bright, 
And the chamber, late so dark and drear, 

Was full of heavenly light. 



^^• 



46 



THE BOY OF HEAVEN. 



Amazed she looked one moment's space, 

One moment made a stand ; 
But she knew it all in a moment more, 

And away to the heavenly land, 
Like the morning lark, when it rises up, 

Went they two hand in hand. 




as- 



Sfi- 



THE CHRISTMAS STORY, 



RICHARD M. MILNES. 




t was on such a night as this, 
Six hundred years ago, 

The wind as loud and pitiless, 
As loaded with the snow, — 

A night when you might start to meet 

A friend, in an accustomed street, — 
That a lone child went up and down 
The pathways of an ancient town. 
A little child, just such as you, 
With eyes, though clouded, just as blue ; 
With just such long fine golden hair. 
But wet and rough for want of care ; 
And just such tender, tottering feet, 
Bare to the cold and stony street. 



48 THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 

It looks before, it looks behind, 

And staggers with the weighty wind, 

Till, terror overpowering grief. 

And feeble as an autumn leaf, 

It passes down the tide of air. 

It knows not, thinks not, how or where. 

Beneath a carven porch, before 

An iron-belted oaken door. 

The tempest drives the cowering child. 

And rages on as hard and wild. 

This is not shelter, though the sleet 

Strikes heavier in the open street ; 

For to that infant ear a din 

Of festive merriment within 

Comes, by the contrast sadder far 

Than all the outer windy war, 

With something cruel, something curst, 

In each repeated laughter-burst ; 

The thread of constant cheerful light. 

Drawn through a crevice on the sight. 

Tells it of heat it cannot feel, 

And all the fire-side bliss 
That home's dear portals can reveal 

On such a night as this. 



ds- 



THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 49 



How can those hands so small and frail, 
Empassioned as they will, avail 
Against that banded wall of wood, 
Standing in senseless hardihood 
Between the warmth, and love, and mirth. 
The comforts of the living earth, 
And the lone creature shivering there. 
The plaything of the savage air ? 

Yet now the tiny hands no more 
Are striking that unfeeling door ; 
Folded and quietly they rest, 
As on a cherub's marble breast ; 
And from the guileless lips of woe 
Are passing words confused and low, — 
Remembered fragments of a prayer, 
Learnt and repeated otherwhere, 
With the blue summer overhead, 

On a sweet mother's knee, 
Beside the downy cradle-bed. 

But always happily. 

Though for those holy words the storm 
Relaxes not its angry form, 

4 

— m 



50 THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 

The child no longer stands alone 

Upon the inhospitable stone : 

There now are two, — one to the other 

Like as a brother to twin-brother, 

But the new-comer has an air 

Of something wonderful and rare, 

Something divinely calm and mild, 

Something beyond a human child : 

His eyes come through the thickening night 

With a soft planetary light, 

And from his hair there falls below 

A radiance on the drifting snow. 

And his untarnished childly bloom 

Seems but the brighter for the gloom. 

See what a smile of gentle grace 

Expatiates slowly o'er his face ! 

As, with a mien of soft command. 

He takes that numbed and squalid hand, 

And with a voice of simple joy, 

And greeting, as from boy to boy. 

He speaks, " What do you at this door ? 

Why called you not on me before ? 

What like you best ? that I should break 



THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 51 

This sturdy barrier for your sake, 
And let you in that you may share 
The warmth and joy and cheerful fare, — 
Or will you trust to me alone, 
And, heeding not the windy moan, 
Nor the cold rain, nor lightning-brand, 
Go forward with me, hand in hand ? " 

The child looks out into the night, 
With gaze of pain and pale affright, 
Then turns an eye of keen desire 
On the thin gleam of inward fire. 
Then rests a long and silent while 
Upon that brother's glorious smile. 
You 've seen the subtle magnet draw 
The iron by its hidden law, — 
So seems that smile to hire along 
The child from an enclosing throng 
Of fears and fancies undefined. 
And to one passion fix its mind. 
Till, every struggling doubt to check. 

And give to love its due. 
It casts its arms about his neck. 

And cries, " With you, with you, — 



^- ■ 

52 THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 

For yoii have sung me many a song, 
Like mine own mother's, all night long, 
And you liaA^e played with me in dreams. 
Along the walks, beside the streams, 
Of Paradise, — the blessed bowers, 
"Where what men call the stars are flowers. 
And what to them looks deep and blue 
Is but a veil, which we saw through. 
Into the garden without end. 
Where you the angel-children tend : 
So that they asked mo when I woke. 
Where I had been, to whom I spoke, 
What I was doing there, to seem 
So heavenly-happy in my dream ! 
0, take me, take me there again. 
Out of the cold and wind and rain, 
Out of this dark and cruel town. 
Whose houses on the orphan frown ! 
Bear me the thundering clouds above. 
To the safe kingdom of your love : 
Or if you will not, I can go 
With you barefooted through the snow ; 
I shall not feel the bitter blast, 
If you will take me home at last." 



THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 53 

Three kisses on its dead-cold cheeks, — 
Three on its bloodless brow, — 
And a clear answering music speaks : 

" Sweet brother ! come there now : 
It shall be so ; there is no dread 
"Within the aureole of mine head ; 
This hand in yours, this living hand, 
Can all the world of cold withstand. 
And though so small, is strong to lift 
Your feet above the thickest drift ; 
The wind that round you raged and broke 
Shall fold about us like a cloak, 
And we shall reach that garden soon. 
Without the guide of sun or moon." 

So down the mansion's slippery stair. 

Into the midnight weather, 
Pass, as if sorrows never were. 

The weak and strong together. — 
This was the night before the morn 
On which the Hope of man was born. 
And long ere dawn can claim the sky. 
The tempest rolls subservient by ; 



^ . 

54 THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 

While bells on all sides sing and saj, 
How Christ the child was born to-day. 

The inmates of the house, before 
Whose iron-fended, heedless door 
The children of our nightly tale 
Were standing, rise refreshed and hale, 
And run, as if a race to win, 
To let the Christmas morning in. 
They find, upon the threshold stone, 
A little child, just like their own ; 
Asleep it seems, but when the head 
Is raised, it sleeps as sleep the dead ; 
The fatal point had touched it, while 
The lips had just begun a smile, 
The forehead, 'mid the matted tresses, 
A perfect-painless end expresses. 
And, unconvulsed, the hands may wear 
The posture more of thanks than prayer. 

Now incense-cloud and anthem sound 
Arise the beauteous body round ; 
Softly the carol-chant is sung. 
Softly the mirthful peal is rung. 



THE CHRISTMAS STORY. 



00 



And, when the solemn duties end, 
With tapers earnest troops attend 
The gentle corpse, nor cease to sing, 

Till by an almond-tree 
They bury it, that the flowers of spring 

May o'er it soonest be. 



^:^ 




a- 



m 



Sfi- 



A PICTrRE OP MEMORY. 



ALICE CAEEY. 




. 11t01T0 the beautiful pictures 
That hang on memory's wall, 
Is one of a dim, old forest, 

That seemeth the best of all. 
Not for its gnarled oaks olden, 
Dark with the mistletoe ; 
Not for the violets golden. 

That sprinkle the vale below ; 
Not for the milk-white lilies 

That lean from the fragrant hedge, 
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams. 

And stealing their golden edge ; 
Not for the vines on the upland. 

Where the bright red berries rest. 
Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip. 
It seemeth to me the best. 



I once liad a little brother, 

With eyes that were dark and deep, - 
In the lap of that dim old forest, 

He lieth in peace asleep. 
Light as the down of the thistle. 

Free as the winds that blow. 
He roved there the beautiful summers. 

The summers of " long ago." 
But his feet on the hills grew weary. 

And one of the autumn eves, 
I made for my little brother 

A bed of the yellow leaves. 
Sweetly his pale arms folded 

My neck in a meek embrace. 
As the light of immortal beauty 

Silently covered his face. 
And when the arrows of sunset 

Lodged in the tree-tops bright, 
He fell, in his saint-like beauty, 

Asleep by the gates of light. 
Therefore of all the pictures 

That hang on memory's wall, 
That one of the dim old forest 

Seemeth the best of all. 



m 



^ 



PASSING AWAY. 



B. F. B. 




r^^plj£ was even yet in childhood, but she 
seemed 
Wasting in strength, like a half-opened 
bud. 
Bowing upon its stem. She lay at rest, 
^Her young heart leaning with a perfect 
faith 
Upon the Word of God ; and thus her eye 
Shone with such inward light, and her pale lips 
Moved with such smiles, that even those who wept 
Felt in their inmost hearts a thrill of joy. 



With what a marvellous vigor can the soul 
Put forth its hidden strength, looking at Death, 



PASSING AWAY. 50 



As at an angel from the courts of God. 
And with what beauty, at the closing hour, 
Will childhood's sweet affections blossom out ! 

There she lay ; — peaceful as if in slumber. 

A thoughtful calmness rested on her brow, 

And the long silken lashes of her eyes 

Pressed meekly to each other ; while her heart 

Seemed musing upon things that were to come. 

Or raised in silent worship. All was still ; 

There came no sound upon the summer air, 

Except the bird's faint warble, or the voice 

Of the low murmuring stream. Her pulse had stopped. 

And those who gathered round leaned slowly o'er 

To see if yet she breathed ; when suddenly 

She started in her bed, upright, spread out her arms, 

And fixing upon space her kindling eyes, 

As if she saw her glorious home in heaven, 

" How beautiful ! how beautiful ! " she cried. 

And sinking on her pillow passed away. 



-^ 



Sfi- 



■^ 



LITTLE PAUL 



BAYARD TAYLOR. 




lirniTWlJ the curtains poured the sun- 

'^* With a sudden gush of joy, 
Where, upon his bed of weakness, 

(/ Lay the dying little boy. 

On the rising airs of evening 

Balmy sounds of summer came, 
And a voice amid their music 

Seemed to call him by his name ; 
And the golden waves were dancing 

On the flooded chamber-wall, — 
On the sunny hair of Florence, 

And the brow of little Paul ! 



As the sunset's tide, receding, 
Ebbed again into the sky, 



(g 

LITTLE PAUL. Gl 



Passed the faint Inie from his features, 

And the lustre from his eye ; 
As if up the rosy surges 

Of that shining river's flow 
Went his spirit to the angel 

Who had claimed it long ago 1 
Fonder still, and full of yearning. 

Seemed to come her gentle call, 
And the throb of life grew fainter 

In the heart of little Paul ! 

But the fond arms of a sister 

Like a link around him lay, 
Charming back his fluttering spirit 

To the love which was its stay ; 
And his own weak arms were folded 

In a clinging, dear embrace, 
Till his check and dewy forehead 

Rested gently on her face. 
Slowly sank his weary eyelids, 

One faint breathing, — that was all, ■ 
And no more the kiss of Florence 

Thrilled the lips of little Paul. 



-K 



DYING, STILL SLOWLY DYING 




^. 



^nT0^ still slowly dying, 

As the hours of night wore by, 

She had lain since the light of sunset 
Was red on the evening sky. 



Until near the middle watches, 
As we softly near her trod, 
^ When her soul from its prison-fetters 
Was loosed by the hand of God. 



And we felt in lonely midnight. 
As we sat by the silent dead. 

That a light on the path going downward 
The feet of the righteous shed, 



d^^ 



^ 



DYING, STILL SLOAYLY DYING 



63 



When we thought how with feet unshrinking, 

She came to the Jordan's tide, 
And, taking the hand of the Saviour, 

Went up on the heavenly side. 



THE MORNING-GLORY 



MARIA LOWELL. 




jC wreathed about our darling's head the 

morning-glory bright ; 
Her little face looked out beneath, so full 



"^ of life and light, 



So lit as with a sunrise, that we could only say, 
She is the morning-glory true, and her poor types 
are they. 



So always, from that happy time, we called her by 
that name ; 
And very fitting it did seem, for, sure as morning came. 
Behind her cradle-bars she smiled to catch the first faint 

ray, 
As from the trellis smiles the flower and opens to the day. 

^ . ^ 



^ 

THE MORN^ING-GLORY. 65 

But not SO beautiful they rear their airy cups of blue, 

As turned her sweet eyes to the light, brimmed with sleep's 

tender dew ; 
And not so close their tendrils fine round their supports 

are thrown, 
As those dear arms, whose outstretched plea clasped all 

hearts to her own. 

We used to think how she had come, even as comes the 

flower, 
The last and perfect added gift to crown love's morning 

hour. 
And how in her was imaged forth the love we could not 

say. 
As on the little dew-drops round shines back the heart of 

dav. 

1/ 

We never could have thought, God, that she must 

wither up, 
Almost before a day was flown, like the morning-glory's 

cup; 
We never thought to see her droop her fair and noble head, 
Till she lay stretched before our eyes, wilted, and cold, and 

dead. 

5 

^— — 



ss- 



66 



THE MORNING-GLORY. 



The morning-glory's blossoming will soon be coming round, 
We see their rows of heart-shaped leaves upspringing from 

the ground ; 
The tender things the winter killed renew again their birth, 
But the glory of our morning has passed away from earth. 

Earth, in vain our aching eyes stretch over thy green 

plain ! 
Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air, her spirit to sustain ; 
But up in groves of Paradise full surely we shall see 
Our morning-glory beautiful twine round our dear Lord's 

knee. 




3S 



-m 



b^- 



NELLIE. 



BY ALICE CAEY. 




quiet our dark foreboding, 
b And make the truth untrue, 
We told our poor sick NeUie 
Of all that we meant to do. 



When the weary work was over 
Of binding and bearing sheaves, 

And she should be back among us. 
The cool September eves. 

The new frock, gay with ruffles. 
From her shrunken shoulders fell. 

But we held her up and tied it. 
As if it could make her well. 



-1^ 



68 NELLIE, 



We had always been together, 

At the school, at our work and play, 

And raking the field without her 
Was lonesome work that day. 

Her cheek was burning redly 

As the rose I brought tliat night, 

And beside my hand so sweetly, 
Her own was, oh, so white ! 

She smiled when we called the cattle 

Close up to tlie open door. 
And drew the blind for the sunshine 

To come to her face once more. 

But when the beautiful shadows 
Began from the west to fall, 

She folded her hands together. 
And turned herself to the wall. 

At noon, the frock with the ruffles 
Lay on her sweet white bed. 

And a better lidit than the sunshine 
Was crowning her fair young liead. 



-5g 



CARRIE. 



C. M. MASON. 



" It must be sweet in childhood to give back 
The spirit to its Maker." 




BllTJCt in beauty ! — ere sorrow had taken 

One tint from the rose that lay warm on 

her cheelc ; 

Before the dark shadows that follow life's 

morning 

Had shrouded our blossom so lovely and meek I 

Dying in beauty ! — though now, alas ! wasted, 
Round were her limbs in their delicate grace ; 
Fair glowed her cheek with the flush of enjoyment. 
Bright was the sunshine that laughed in her face. 



Dying in youth ! — not decrepit and aged. 

Weary, and earth-worn, and sick of the strife ; 

Called to the grave in the morn of existence, 
Summoned to death from the threshold of life ! 



70 CARRIE. 

Dying in peace ! — on lier fair, tranquil bosom 
Rest her white fingers so wasted and thin ; 

Over her features a cahn smile is straying, 
Type of the peace of God reigning within. 

Dying beloved ! — not unwept and iincared for ; 

Tears fall in showers on the face of the child, 
Under the snowy sheet dreaming so peacefully, 

Meeting strange Death with an aspect so mild. 

Breathe in her ear the dear hymns of her childhood. 
When she awakes from her death-like repose ; 

Press on her forehead sweet kisses of fondness, 
Place in her bosom a half-blossomed rose. 

Smile on her pleasantly, — tell her not gloomily, 
Death, the grim tyrant, is coming anon ; 

Say to her, " Darling, an angel is waiting. 
Eager to take thee where Jesus has gone." 

Gently and quietly smooth down her pillow ; 

Gather fresh roses to lay in her hand ; 
Soon will her weary soul, loosed and unfettered. 

Plume its faint wing for the sweet spirit-land ! 



^ 



-5^ 



CARRIE. 



Dim o'er her forehead — her pale, dewy forehead — 

Ckister the shadowy waves of her hair. 
Smooth them not, though it be never so tenderly, 

Leave them untouched in their loveliness there. 

Close on her cheek lie her fair blue-veined eyelids, 
Hiding the beauty that slumbers beneath ; 

Tremulous now with the throbbings of weakness. 
Soon they will rest in the quiet of death ! 

Peace to thy slumber, thou lovely and stricken one, 
Peace, — though thou wake from it only to die ! 

Strange that the spoiler should breathe on such freshness ! 
Strange that such beauty in darkness should lie ! 

Gently and quietly smooth down her pillow, 

Gather fresh roses to lay in her hand ; 
Soon will her happy soul, loosed and unfettered. 

Plume its white wing for the sweet spirit-land ! 

Dying in childhood, in peace, and in beauty, — 
Dying with love o'er the dark way to shine ! 

Who, thou sweet child, while they wept, would not envy ? 
Who would not wish for an exit like thine ? 



-^ 



-5g 




THE WHISPERING ANGEL 

R. B. E. 

Ultf motionless, and silent lay 

An infant on its bed, 
While on its face the smile of peace 
A beauteous halo shed ; 
And on that face a mother gazed 

With looks of wild despair, 
Conscious that Death's resistless hand 
Had fixed his signet there. 

She saw alone the hastening hour 

When to her fond caress 
No more she might those ruby lips. 

With tenderest rapture, press ; 



as- 



THE WHISPERING ANGEL 



73 



But saw not in that placid smile 
The brighter vision sealed, 

Which on her darling's spirit broke, 
To her yet unrevealed. 

For near the couch an angel spread 

His pure, ethereal wings. 
Imparting to that spotless soul 

Unutterable things ; 
And whispered soft of anguish spared. 

Of bliss immortal given. 
And all its new-born senses filled 

"With dreams of opening heaven ! 




-^ 



-5g 



THE DEATH-BED. 



THOMAS HOOD, 




t watched her breathmg through the 
night, 
Her breathing soft and low, 
^As in her breast the wave of hfe 
Kept heaving to and fro. 



So silently we seemed to speak, 

So slowly moved about. 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 



Our very hopes belied our fears. 
Our fears our hopes belied ; 

We thought her dying when she slept. 
And sleeping when she died. 



^- 



-S8 



THE DEATH-BED. 



75 



For when the morn came dim and sad, 
And chill with early showers, 

Her quiet eyelids closed, — she had 
Another morn than ours. 




■m 



-ki 



®0rbs I0 §J2inig (![ljilbran. 



THE MOTHER TO HER SICK CHILD. 



BERNARD BARTON. 




inX eye has not the laughing light 
^ That childhood's glance should know ; 
Thy cheek bears not the roses bright 

That childhood's cheek should show ; 
Thy step has not the buoyant glee 
Which seems with music fraught ; — 
But art thou, love, less dear to me ? 
How cruel were the thought ! 

0, none can tell, who have not known 

A nursing mother's lot, 
The charm by patient meekness thrown 

Around the sufferer's cot, 



ds- 



5e 

THE MOTHER TO HER SICK CHILD. 77 

The trust, that still, through many fears. 

The heart of love can buoy. 
That those who seem to " sow hi tears " 

Shall live to " reap m joy " ! 



That hope which knows no anxious fear 

Has never been my own ; 
Love's smile, unchastened by its tear. 

Has been to me unknown ; 
Yet many hopes and many smiles 

With thee, sweet child, were given, 
Whose influence yet a heart beguiles, 

That anguish else had riven. 



Though April's sky with clouds be dark, 

It has its spots of blue ; 
The sea that bears the storm-tost bark 

Has calm and sunshine too ; 
Though winter's blast nip leaf and flower. 

It spares the root below ; 
And love in darkest days has power 

To lighten care and woe. 

. . ^ 



THE MOTHER TO HER SICK CHILD. 

Then blessings on thee, helpless one ! 

If such thy lot must be ; 
In grief's dark shade, or joy's bright sun. 

Thou yet art dear to me : 
For thee I '11 watch, for thee I '11 wake, 

For thee put up my prayer, 
Till every task, for thy loved sake, 

The form of pleasure wear. 



On Him who bears the feeble up 

My spirit let me stay. 
In Him who sweetens every cup 

Confide from day to day ; 
His love in poverty is wealth, 

'T is joy in sorrow's thrall ; 
In darkness, light, — in sickness, health, — 

In all things, " all in all " ! 



^^ 



-sa 



AND MUST THOU DIE? 



SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 




XiU must thou die, my darling boy ? 

I see the fatal shade, 
That o'er thy blooming cheek of joy 

The hand of death has laid : 
And soon the appointed hour must come, 
To bear thy ransomed spirit home. 

I loved to gaze upon thy face, 
And mark thine open brow, 
Where care as yet had stamped no trace, 
To picture human woe : 
There, all was peaceful, all was fair. 
Like the sweet smile that rested there. 



Must I no more behold that smile. 
Nor feel thy hand entwine. 

In fond, endearing love, awhile 
Its gentle clasp in mine ? 



80 AND MUST THOU DIE? 

Or see thine ardent spirit glow 
With joys that only youth can know ? 

But these are selfish thoughts, that wrong 

A Christian parent's love ; 
Vain thoughts, that suit the worldly throng, 

Who never look above 
Earth's bounded scene, earth's narrow sphere, 
But centre all their treasures here. 

Let me not mourn that thou wilt be 

A tenant of the sky, — 
Escaped from life's tumultuous sea, 

And frail mortality : 
When storms arise, and tempests blow, 
No adverse gale thy bark shall know. 

Let me rejoice to think that thou 

Hast early joined the blest ; 
Before thy youthful heart could know 

Aught to disturb its rest, — 
Before earth's chilling storms had given 
A blight to fruit prepared for heaven. 



■■'ii 



GO TO THY SLEEP, MY CHILD, 



MRS. SIGOURNEY. 




to thy sleep, my child ! 

Go to thy dreamless bed, 
Gentle and undefiled, 

With blessings on thy head ; 
Fresh roses in thy hand, 
Buds on thy pillow laid, 
Haste from this fearful land. 
Where flowers so quickly fade. 

Before thy heart might learn 

In waywardness to stray, 
Before thy foot could turn 

The dark and downward way, 

6 



82 GO TO THY SLEEP, MY CHILD, 

Ere sin might wound the breast, 
Or sorrow wake the tear, 

Kise to thy home of rest. 
In yon celestial sphere. 

Because thy smile was fair, 

Thy lip and eye so bright. 
Because thy cradle-care 

Was such a fond delight. 
Shall love, with weak embrace, 

Thy heavenward flight detain ? 
No ! angel, seek thy place 

Amid yon cherub train. 




^- 



CHARLES JAMES, 



C. SPRAGUE. 



lj01X cam'st, — what pleasures new and 
bright 
Thy coming gave ! 
Thou 'rt gone, — and every young delight 
Is laid in thy dark grave. 



^ There is a spot, — 'tis holy ground 
To those who weep, — 
"^^^4^ Where, hushed beneath each lonely mound, 
Death's mouldering victims sleep. 




Friend, sister, brother, there are laid. 

From sorrows free ; 
And there a clay-cold bed is made 
For thee, sweet boy ! for thee. 



-K 



^ 5g 

84 CHARLES JAMES. 

Those little hands thou 'It raise no more 

To meet my arms ; 
Thou 'rt gone ! the bitter wind passed o'er, 
And withered all thy charms. 

Forever gone life's active spark, 

The blood's warm thrill ; 
Thy bright blue eyes are closed and dark. 
Thy merry laugh is still. 

I 've sat me by tliy cradle's side, 

And joyed to trace. 
Blind fool ! with all a father's pride. 
Thy future earthly race. 

Fancy beheld thee good and wise. 

Honor's proud theme. 
Truth's sturdy prop, Fame's noble prize, — 
But oh ! 't was all a dream. 

There came an hour, — with me 't will live 

Till life depart ; 
Time's vaunted skill no balm can give, 
Remembrance wrings my heart. 



_ ^ 

CHARLES JAMES. 85 



'T was when I watched, with curdling blood, 

Each stifled breath ; 
'T was when on that pale forehead stood 
The boding damp of death. 

'T was when the tyrant's grasp, so cold, 

Chilled life's young tide ; 
'T was when those eyes that last glance rolled, 
'T was when my poor boy died. 

The sigh will rise in manhood's spite, 

The tears will roll ; 
Grief round me draws her mental night, 
And desolates my soul. 

Yet let my stricken heart be taught 

That thou 'rt in peace ; 
That lesson, with true wisdom fraught. 
Should bid each anguish cease. 

If there 's a refuge-place d^i last. 

For man to enjoy. 
There may I meet, earth's trials past, 
My Charles, my cherub boy ! 



-^ 



TO AYILLIAM, 



W. B. 0. PEABODY. 



^t seems but yesterday, my love, tliy little 
heart beat high ; 
And I had almost scorned the voice that 

told me thou must die. 
I saw thee move with active bound, with 
spirits wild and free, 
And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious 
charm to thee. 

Far on the sunny plains I saw thy sparkling footsteps fly. 
Firm, light, and graceful as the bird that cleaves the 

morning sky ; 
And often as the playful breeze waved back thy shining 

hair, 
Thy cheek displayed the red-rose tint that health had 

painted there. 




gd- 



s—- ~~ — " 

TO WILLIAM. 87 

And then, in all my tliouglitfulness, I could not but rejoice 
To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice, — 
Xow echoing in the rapturous laugh, now sad almost to tears ; 
'T was like the sounds I used to hear in old and happier 

years ! 

Thanks for that memory to thee, my little, lovely boy, — 
That memory of my j^outhful bliss which time would fain 

destroy, 
I listened, as the mariner suspends the outbound oar. 
To taste the farewell gale that breathes from off his native 

shore. 

So gentle in thy loveliness, alas 1 how could it be 

That Death would not forbear to lay his icy hand on thee. 

Nor spare thee yet a little while, in childhood's opening 

bloom, 
While many a sad and weary soul was longing for the tomb ? 

Was mine a happiness too pure for erring man to know ? 
Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my paradise below ? 
Enchanting as the vision was, it sank away as soon 
As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark at 
noon. 



5a 



?f. 



88 TO WILLIAM. 



I loved thee, and my heart was blest ; but ere that day 

was spent, 
I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness 

bent. 
And shuddered as I cast a look upon thy fainting head ; 
The mournful cloud was gathering there, and life was 

almost fled. 

Days passed ; and soon the seal of Death made known that 

hope was vain ; 
I knew the swiftly wasting lamp woiild never burn again ; 
The cheek was pale ; the snowy lips were gently thrown 

apart ; 
And life in every passing breath seemed gushing from the 

heart. 

I knew those marble lips to mine should never more be 

pressed. 
And floods of feeling, undefined, rolled wildly o'er my 

breast ; 
Low, stifled sounds, and dusky forms, seemed moving in 

the gloom, 
As if Death's dark array were come to bear thee to the 

tomb. 



dS- 



TO WILLIAM. 89 



And when I could not keep the tear from gathering in my 

eye, 
Thy little hand pressed gently mine, in token of reply ; 
To ask one more exchange of love, thy look was iij)ward 

cast. 
And in that long and burning kiss, thy happy spirit passed. 

I never trusted to have lived to bid farewell to tliee. 

And almost said in agony, it ought not so to be ; 

I hoped that thou within the grave my weary head shouldst 

lay, 
And live beloved, when I was gone, for many a happy day. 

With trembling hand I vainly tried thy dying eyes to close. 
And almost envied, in that hour, thy calm and deep repose ; 
For I was left in loneliness, with pain and grief oppressed. 
And thou wast with the sainted, where the weary are at 
rest. 

Yes ! I am sad and weary now, but let me not repine. 
Because a spirit loved so well is earlier blest than mine ; 
My faith may darken as it will, I shall not much deplore, 
Since thou art where the ills of life can never reach thee 
more. 



5? 



-% 



SINKING INTO DEATH. 




XS dying ! life is yielding place 
To that mysterious charm, 

Which spreads upon the troubled face 
A fixed, unchanging calm. 

That deepens as the parting breath 

Is gently sinking into death. 



A thoughtful beauty rests the while 

Upon its snowy brow ; 
But those pale lips could never smile 

More radiantly than now ; 
And sure some heavenly dreams begin 
To dawn upon the soul within ! 



. ^ 

SINKING INTO DEATH. 91 



that those mildly conscious li^js 

Were parted to reply, — 
To tell how death's severe eclipse 

Is passing from thine eye ! 
For living eye can never see 
The change that death hath wrought in thee. 

Perhaps thy sight is wandering far 

Throughout the kindled sky, 
In tracing every infant star 

Amid the lights on high, — 
Souls of the just, whose path is bent 
Around the glorious firmament. 

Perhaps thine eye is gazing down 

Upon the earth below, 
Rejoicing to have gained thy crown. 

And hurried from its woe, 
To dwell beneath the throne of Him, 
Before whose glory heaven is dim. 

Thy life, — how cold it might have been 

If days had grown to years ! 
How dark, how deeply stained with sin. 

With weariness and tears ! 



92 SINKING INTO DEATH. 



How happy thus to sink to rest, 
So early numbered with the blest ! 

'T is well, then, that the smile should lie 

Upon thy marble clieek ; 
It tells to our inquiring eye 

What words could never speak, — 
A revelation sweetly given 
Of all that man can learn of heaven. 




■^ 



•sg 



HE WILL WATCH TIIEE N0¥ 



G. W. BETHUNE. 



to lis on a blessed morning of the blessed 

day of rest, 
I clasped thee, as a gift from God, first 

to a father's breast ; 
And sweetly didst thou nestle there, a 
thing of holy love. 
Till soul shone out thy pleasant face, like sun- 
shine from above ; 
And the accents of thy lisping tongue seemed, to 
my partial thought. 
Like music, from the angel guards around thy pillow caught. 
We called thee by her precious name who poured the rich 

perfume. 
With tears, upon her Master's feet, and watched his early 
tomb. 




— (S 



94 HE WILL WAT C II THEE NOW. 

I loved thee well, how tenderly God only knows ; but thou 
Art clasped unto the heart of One who loves thee better 
now. 

'T was on another blessed day, 'midst the Sabbath's holy 

hush, 
When first we marked upon thy cheek the fever's hectic 

flush ; 
And a shuddering sense of mortal ill ran through thy 

gentle frame. 
Till we dared not speak the fearful thoughts that o'er our 

spirits came ; 
And many a weary, sleepless night, and weary, sleepless 

day. 
We watched, beside thy burning bed, thy young life pass 

away. 
Yet there was joy amidst our grief, and hope, no tears 

could dim, 
As we listened to thy whispered prayers, and sweetly 

warbled hymn : 
0, faithfully we watched thee then, amidst thy pangs ! but 

thou 
Art fallen asleep on Jesus' breast, and he will watch thee 

now. 



A MOTHER OVER HER CHILD DEVOTED TO DEATH. 



MRS. S. H. COLERIDGE. 




nhti^, 



my babe ! Hear not tlie rippling 
wave, 
Nor feel the breeze that round thee lin- 
gering strays 
To drink thy balmy breath, 
And sigh one long farewell. 



Soon shall it mourn above thy watery bed, 
'I And whisper to me on the wave-beat shore, 
Deep murmuring in reproach 
Thy sad, untimely fate. 



Ere those dear eyes had opened on the light, - 
In vain to plead, — thy coming life was sold ; 
0, wakened but to sleep, 
"Whence it can wake no more ! 



•:s 



— S8 

96 A MOTHER OVER HER CHILD DEVOTED TO DEATH. 

A thousand and a thousand silken leaves 
The tufted beech unfolds in early spring, 

All clad in tenderest green, — 

All of the selfsame shape. 

A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet. 
Each year sends forth, yet every mother views 

Her last, not least, beloved 

Like its dear self alone. 

No musing mind hath ever yet foreshaped 
The face to-morrow's sun shall first reveal ; 

No heart hath e'er conceived 

What love that face will bring. 

sleep, my babe ! nor heed how mourns the gale 
To part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath. 

As when it deeply sighs 

O'er autumn's latest bloom. 



^- 



ss 




WEE ¥ILLIE, 



DR. MOIR. 



KXt thee well, our last and fairest, 

Dear wee Willie, fare thee well ! 
He who lent thee hath recalled thee. 

Back with him and his to dwell. 
Fifteen moons their silver lustre 

Only o'er thy brow had shed, 
When thy spirit joined the seraphs, 

And thy dust the dead. 



Like a sunbeam through our dwelling 
Shone thy presence, bright and calm ; 

Thou didst add a zest to pleasure. 
To our sorrows thou wert balm. 

7 



-^ 



^ 

98 WEE WILLIE. 



Brighter beamed thine eyes than summer, 
And thy first attempts at speech 

Thrilled our heart-strings with a rapture 
Music ne'er could reach. 



As we gazed upon thee sleeping, 

With thy fine, fair locks outspread, 
Thou didst seem a little angel. 

Who from heaven to earth had strayed ; 
And, entranced, we watched beside thee, 

Half in hope, and half aff"right. 
Lest what we deemed ours and earthly 

Should dissolve in light. 



Snow o'ermantled hill and valley. 

Sullen clouds begrimmed the sky. 
When the first drear doubt oppressed us, 

That our child was doomed to die. 
Through the long night-watch, the taper 

Showed the hectic on thy cheek. 
And each anxious dawn beheld thee 

More worn-out and weak. 



WEE WILLIE. 99 



'T was even then Destruction's angel 

Shook his pinions in our path ; 
Seized the roses of our household, 

And struck Charlie down in death. 
Fearful, awful desolation 

On our lintel set his sign. 
And we turned from his sad death-bed, 

Willie, round to thine. 

As the beams of Spring's first morning 

Through the silent chamber played, 
Lifeless in mine arms I raised thee, 

And in thy small coffin laid. 
Ere the day-star with the darkness 

Nine times had in triumph striven, 
In one grave had met your ashes, 

And your souls in heaven. 




-^ 



-Si 



HOW SHALL I BEAR THE HOUR? 




yes ! the spirit's glow is gone, 

Passed from that face away, 
The flush of childhood and of health 

Fled with thy slow decay. 
No more the song of joy is heard 
From that low, mournful voice. 
No more bright days of gladness come : 
Thou canst not now rejoice. 

Ah yes ! the spirit's glow is gone ; — 

What mortal hand can now 
Recall the brightness to that eye, 

The color to that brow ? 
'T is all in vain : no human power, 

I feel at last, can save : 



^- 



HOW SHALL I BEAR THE HOUR? 101 

Flower of sweet loveliness ! H is thou 
Art singled for the grave. 

And I ! what dreams I had for thee 

Of life and future years, 
Without a shadow in their course 

Of grief's destroying tears ! 
Thoughts, dreams, and visions, what are they ? 

Fond mockeries of the brain, — 
Hopes, o'er whose momentary light 

The heart must weep in vain. 

Pale child, I dare not number o'er 

Thy days of pain and grief, — 
How long, how patiently thy voice. 

Imploring, sought relief, — 
How many watching hours were mine, 

'Mid loneliness and fears, 
AVith only God and me to mark 

Thy agony and tears. 

And now the spirit's glow is gone 
Forever from that face. 



-^ 



102 HOW SHALL I BEAR THE HOUR? 

As, 'mid its wreck of loveliness, 
The lines of death I trace. 

For life is ebbing fast from thee, 
My sad and gentle child ; 

Alas ! the blighted blossom fails 
Ere summer skies have smiled. 

'T will be a weary hour, I know, 

When those last words are said, 
And silently and coldly falls 

The earth upon thy bed ! 
"When rude, unthinking men have borne 

Thy coffin from my sight ! 
I could not see them shut thee from 

This world of sun and light. 

I bury thee ! — how strangely falls 

That word upon my heart ! 
How shall I bear the hour at last, 

My child, when we must part ? 
I cannot tell, — I dare not think. 

Nor weep, nor even pray : 
My God, who strik'st this bitter blow. 

Support me through that day ! 



MY SWEET ONE 



ALARIC A. WATTS. 



Fare thee well, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee well, thou best and dearest ! 



IJ sweet one, my sweet one ! the tears 
were in my eyes 

When first I clasped thee to my heart, 
and heard thy feeble cries, — 

For I thought of all that I had borne, 
as I bent me down to kiss 

Thy cherry lip and sunny brow, my first- 
born bud of bliss ! 



1 turned to many a withered hope, — to years of grief and 

pain ; — 
And the cruel wrongs of a bitter world flashed o'er my 

burning brain. 




104 MY SWEET ONE. 



I thought of friends grown worse than cold, of persecuting 

foes, — 
And I asked of Heaven, if ills like these must mar thy 

youth's repose. 

I gazed upon thy quiet face, — half blinded by my tears, — 
Till gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening on my 

fears, — 
Sweet rays of hope, that fairer shone 'mid the cloud of 

gloom that bound them. 
As stars dart down their loveliest light when midnight 

skies are round them. 

My sweet one ! my sweet one ! thy life's brief hour is o'er, 
And a father's anxious fears for thee can fever me no 

more ; 
And for the hopes, the sunbright hopes, that blossomed at 

thy birth, — 
They too have fled, to prove how frail are cherished things 

on earth. 

'T is true that thou wert young, my child, but though brief 

thy span below. 
To me it was a little age of agony and woe ; 



^ 



___rg 

MT SWEET ONE. 105 



For from the first, faint dawn of life, thy cheek began to 

fade, 
And my heart had scarce thy welcome breathed, ere my 

hopes were wrapt in shade. 



0, the child that in its hours of health and bloom is dear 

as thou wert then. 
Grows far more prized — more fondly loved — in sickness 

and in pain ; 
And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear babe, when every hope 

was lost, 
Ten times more precious to my soul — for all that thou 

hadst cost ! 



Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watched thee day 

by day, 
Pale, like the second bow of heaven, as gently waste 

away ; 
And, sick with dark, foreboding fears, we dared not 

breathe aloud. 
Sat hand in hand, in speechless grief, to wait death's 

coming cloud. 



106 MY SWEET ONE. 



It came at length : o'er tliy bright blue eye the film was 

gathering fast, — 
And an awful shade passed o'er thy brow, the deepest and 

the last; — 
In thicker gushes strove thy breath, — we raised thy 

drooping head ; 
A moment more — the final pang — and thou wert of the 

dead ! 

Thy gentle mother turned away, to hide her face from me, 
And murmured low of Heaven's behests, and bliss attained 

by thee ; — 
She would have chid me that I mourned a doom so blest 

as thine, 
Had not her own deep grief burst forth in tears as wild 

as mine. 

We laid thee down in sinless rest, and from thine infant 

brow 
Culled one soft lock of radiant hair, — our only solace 

now, — 
Then placed around thy beauteous corse flowers not more 

fair and sweet, — 
Twin rosebuds in thy little hands, and jessamine at thy 

feet. 



a- 



sg 



MY SWEET ONE. 



107 



Though other offspring still be ours, as fair perchance as 

thou, 
With all the beauty of thy cheek, the sunshine of thy 

brow, 
They never can replace the bud our early fondness nursed ; 
They may be lovely and beloved, but not like thee, — the 

first! 




Jg 



5g 



THY ARMS ARE ROUND ME. 



MES. SIGOURKEY. 




ylT fevered arms are round me, 

My little, suffering boy ! 
'T is better thus with thee to watch, 

Than share in fashion's joy. 



The pale nurse-lamp is waning 
Upon the shaded hearth, 

And dearer is its light to me 
Than the gay flambeau's mirth. 



I 've loved the merry viol 
That spurs the dancer's heel, 

And those soft tremblings of the lute 
O'er summer's eves that steal ; 



_ ^ 

THY ARMS ARE ROUND ME. 109 



But when hath richest music 

Been to my soul so dear, 
As that half-broken sob of thine, 

Which tells that sleep is near ? 

I knew not half how precious 
The cup of life might be. 

Till o'er thy cradle-bed I knelt, 
And learned to dream of thee ; — 

Till at the midnight hour I found 

Tliy head upon my arm, 
And saw thy full eye fixed on mine, 

A strong, mysterious charm ; — 

Till at thy first faint lisping 
That tear of rapture stole, 

Which ever as a pearl had slept 
Deep in the secret soul. 

A coffin small, and funeral. 

With all their sad array. 
Gleam, as my broken slumbers fleet. 

On sable wing away. 



ig 



_ rg 

110 THY ARMS ARE ROUND ME. 



Rouse, rouse me, ere such visions 

My heated brain can sear. 
For still my baby's heavy knell 

Comes booming o'er my ear. 

Cling closer, round my bosom 

Thy feeble arms entwine, 
And while the life-throb stirs thy heart, 

Be as a part of mine. 

That start, that cry, that struggle ! 

My God ! I am but clay ; 
Have pity on a bruised reed, 

Give thy compassions way ; 

Or send thy strength to gird me, 

Impart a power divine. 
To wring out sorrow's dregs, and say, 

" Lord, not my will, but thine ! " 



MY LITTLE PATIENT BOY. 



LEIGH HUNT. 

breathes at last from out thee, 
My little, patient boy ! 
And balmy rest about thee 
Smoothes off the day's annoy. 
I sit me down, and think 
Of all thy winning ways ; 
Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink, 
That I had less to praise. 

Thy sidelong, pillowed meekness. 
Thy thanks to all that aid. 
Thy heart, in pain and weakness, 
Of fancied faults afraid, 




112 MY LITTLE PATIENT BOY. 

The little, trembling hand 
That wipes thy quiet tears, — 
These, these are things that may demand 
Dread memories for years. 



Sorrows I 've had, severe ones, 
I will not think of now ; 
And calmly, midst my dear ones. 
Have wasted with dry brow ; 
But when thy fingers press. 
And pat my stooping head, 
I cannot bear the gentleness, — 
The tears are in their bed. 



Ah ! first-born of thy mother. 
When life and hope were new, 
Kind playmate of thy brother. 
Thy sister, father, too, — 
My light where'er I go. 
My bird when prison-bound, — 
My hand-in-hand companion, — no. 
My prayers shall hold thee round. 



. _ ^ ^ 

MY LITTLE PATIENT BOY. 113 

To say, " He has departed," — 
" His voice, — liis face, — is gone," — 
To feel impatient-hearted, 
Yet feel we must bear on, — 
Ah ! I could not endure 
To whisper of such woe, 
Unless I felt this sleep insure 
That it will not be so. 

Yes, still he 's fixed and sleeping ! 
This silence too the while, — 
Its very hush and creeping 
Seem whispering as a smile ; — 
Something divine and dim 
Seems going by one's ear, 
Like parting wings of cherubim. 
Who say, " We 've finished here." 




-tS 



'^ 



HASTE TO DEPART. 



" Ostendent terris haiic tantiim fata, nee ultra 
Esse sineut." 




iXBtt to depart. The breeze of 
earth 
Is all too rude for thee ; 
For thou wast destined from thy 
birth 
For realms more fair and free. 
Our warmest beams too coldly glow 

Thy beauties to expand ; 
Thy spirit lingers here below 
As in a foreign land. 



Haste to depart. The wandering dove 



Benighted as it flies 



HASTE TO DEPART. 115 



Pants not to gain its bower of love 

As tliou to reach the skies. 
The hours of spring-tide come, but bring 

No spring-time to thy heart ; 
Among the leaves sweet voices sing, 

Thou heed'st them not. Depart 1 

And yet to us thou art as dear 

As earthly thing can be ; 
And we are fain to keep thee hero 

And share our hearts with thee ; 
The thought, how brief thy sojourning 

In this low vale must prove, 
But makes us closer round thee cling, 

And wakes to deeper love ! 

Haste to depart ! We would not daro 

To stay thy wing from heaven ; 
And all thy love, and all thy care, 

To God alone be ^iven. 
Though darkness veil our future hours, 

Nor thou be near to shine. 
The bitter loss can be but ours. 

The gain immortal, thine. 



-K 



^- 



116 



HASTE TO DEPART. 



Tliy mossy grave our tears shall wet, 

When thou art lowly laid ; 
But thy freed spmt shall forget 

All of this earth's dim shade, 
When crowned and robed in spotless white, 

Washed in the fount above, — 
The Fount of blessedness and light, 

A great Redeemer's love. 




>^ri?^w 



a- 



-S5 



THAT WASTED FORM. 




child, that wasted form, 
That pale and mournful brow, 
er which thy long, dark tresses 
In shadowy beauty flow. 
That eye, whence soul is darting 
With such strange brilliancy. 
Tell us thou art departing. 
This world is not for thee. 



No ! not for thee is woven 
That wreath of joy and woe. 

That crown of thorns and flowers 
Which all must wear below. 



-^ 



118 THAT WASTED FORM. 



We bend in anguisli o'er thee, 
Yet feel that thou art blest, 

Loved one, so early summoned 
To enter into rest. 



Soon shall thy bright young spirit 

From earth's cold chains be free ; 
Soon shalt thou meet that Saviour, 

"Who gave himself for thee ; 
Soon shalt thou be rejoicing, 

Unsullied as thou art, 
In the blest vision promised 

Unto the pure in heart. 



Yes, thou art going home, 

Our Father's face to see 
In perfect bliss and glory ; 

But we — where are we ? 
While that celestial country 

Thick clouds and darkness hide. 
In a strange land of exile 

Still, still we must abide. 



-^ 



THAT WASTED FORM. 



119 



O Father of our spirits, 

We can but look to tliee ; 
Though chastened, not forsaken 

Shall we, thy children, be. 
We take the cup of sorrow, 

As did thy blessed Son : 
Teach us to say, with Jesus, 

" Thy will, not ours, be done." 




Wam^ nf §jji«jg Cljitoreit. 



• ' i 106-^ 



THE CONSENTING MOTHER. 



MRS. SIGOURNEY. 




Btt green fields and glorious flowers, 
I see bright streamlets flow, 

Glad voices call to heavenly bowers. 
Sweet mother ! let me go." 

His cheek grew pale. Had ghastly Death 

Dealt the last, fatal blow ? 
No ! hear once more his pleading breath,— 

" Dear mother ! let me go." 



And could her love his soul detain, 
That struggled to be free ? 



THE CONSENTING MOTHER, 



121 



And league with the oppressor, Pain, 
To wrest his liberty ? 

" Lord, not my will," she said, " but thine ! " 

And high her darling soared. 
And from the skies that ever shine 

A joyous carol poured. 




■^, 



THE BLIND EOY 



DR. HAWKES. 




I was a blessed summer day : 



The flowers bloomed, the air was mild, 
The little birds poured forth their lay, 
And everything in nature smiled. 



pleasant thought I wandered on, 
Beneath the deep wood's ample shade, 

suddenly I came upon 
Two children, who had thither strayed. 



Just at an aged birch-tree's foot 
A little boy and girl reclined ; 

His hand in hers she kindly put, 
And then I saw the boy was blind. 



-^ 



THE BLIND BOY. 123 



The cliildren knew not I was near, — 
A tree concealed me from their view, — 

But all they said I well could hear, 
And I could see all they might do. 

" Dear Mary," said the poor blind boy, 
^' That little bird sings very long ; 

Say, do you see him in his joy, 
And is he pretty as his song ? " 

" Yes, Edward, yes,'' replied the maid, 
" I see the bird on yonder tree." 

The poor boy sighed, and gently said, 
" Sister, I wish that I could see ! 

" The flowers, you say, are very fair, 

And bright green leaves are on the trees. 

And pretty birds are singing there, — 
How beautiful for one who sees ! 

" Yet I the fragrant flowers can smell, 
And I can feel the green leaf's shade. 

And I can hear the notes that swell 

From those dear birds that God has made. 



-^ 



^ 

124 THE BLIND BOY. 



" So, sister, God to me is kind. 

Though sight, alas ! He has not given ; 

But tell me, are there any blind 

Among the children up in heaven ? " 

"No, dearest Edward, there all see ; — 
But why ask me a thing so odd ? " 

" Mary, He 's so good to me, 

I thought I 'd like to look at God ! " 

Erelong, disease his hand had laid 
On that dear boy, so meek and mild ; 

His widowed mother wept, and prayed 
That God would spare her sightless child. 

He felt her warm tears on his face, 
And said, " never weep for me ! 

I 'm going to a bright, bright place. 
Where Mary says I God shall see. 

" And you '11 be there, dear Mary, too ; 

But, mother, when you get up there. 
Tell Edward, mother, that 't is you, — 

You know I never saw you here ! " 



■^- 



-sg 



THE BLIND BOY. 



125 



He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled 
Until tlie final blow was given, 

When God took up the poor blind child, 
And opened first his eyes in heaven ! 




•^ 



^- 



A EALLAD. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF HERDER, BY MARY HOWITT. 




1T101T0 green, pleasant meadows, 

All in a grove so wild, 
Was set a marble imasie 



I Of the Virgin and the Child. 



jyy There oft on summer evenings, 
A lovely boy would rove. 
To play beside the image 
That sanctified the grove. 

Oft sat his mother by him. 
Among the shadows dim, 

And told how the Lord Jesus 
"Was once a child like him. 



^ 



A BALLAD. 127 

" And now from highest heaven 

He doth look down each day, 
And sees whate'er thou doest, 

And hears what thou dost say." 

Thus spake his tender mother, 

And on an evening bright. 
When the red, round sun descended 



Mid clouds of crimson lioht. 



Again the boy was playing, 

And earnestly said he : 
" beautiful child Jesus, 

Come down and play with me 1 

" I will find thee flowers the fairest, 
And weave for thee a crown ; 

I will get thee red, ripe strawberries, 
If thou wilt but come down. 

'' holy, holy mother ! 

Put him down from off thy knee ; 
For in these silent meadows 

There are none to play with me I " 



128 A BALLAD. 



Tims spake the boy so loA^cly, 
The Avhile his mother heard ; 

But on his prayer she pondered, 
And spake to him no word. 

That selfsame niorht she dreamed 

A lovely dream of joy ; 
She thought she saw young Jesus, 

There, playing with the boy ! 

" And for the fruits and flowers 
Which thou hast brought to me, 

Rich blessings shall be given 
A thousand-fold to thee ! 

" For in the fields of heaven 

Thou shalt roam witli me at will. 

And of bright fruits celestial 
Shalt have, dear child, thy fill." 

Thus tenderly and kindly 
The fair child Jesus spoke. 

And, full of careful musings. 
The anxious mother woke. 



r^ 

A BALLAD. 129 



And thus it was accomplished : 
In a short month and day, 

That lovely boy, so gentle, 
Upon his death-bed lay. 

And tlins he spoke in dying : 
^ " mother dear, I see 
The beautiful child Jesus 
A-coming down to me : 

" And in his hand he beareth 
Bright flowers as white as snow, 

And red and juicy strawberries : 
Dear mother, let me go ! " 

He died, — but that fond mother 
Her sorrow did restrain ; 

For she knew he was with Jesus, 
And she asked him not ao-ain ! 



^- 



AT REST, 



E. P. 




t walked a shining being 
Within a quiet room, 
With wings of raven-color, 

And yet with naught of gloom. 

r 

A gentle little being. 

With eyes through watchings dim, 
Lay waiting for the message 

From earth to summon him. 



The flowers about him wondered. 
And held their fragrant breath. 

As if they longed to question, 
" Is this sweet comer Death ? " 



_ _cg 

AT REST. 131 



Then through the open window 
Came upward and away 

Harsh words, and angry strivings, 
From children at their play. 

Uprose the child, and struggled 

In earnestness to speak, 
While the flushed rose-leaf's color 

Stole lightly o'er his cheek. 

" Mother, dear mother, tell me. 

Tell me before I go, 
Are little angels ever. 

In heaven, angry so ? " 

'Mid smiles and tears contending. 
That sweet reply was given, — 

*' Fear not, fear not, my loved one, 
There is no sin in heaven." 

Another hour of watching 

Dragged out its weary length ; 

The little child lay panting 
For freedom and for strength. 



^— 



^ — ^ ^ 

132 AT REST. 

His frame convulsed with anguish, 

His quivering lips compressed, 
Again he spake, " Dear mother, 

And do the angels rest 'i " 

The mother wept, and answered, 

" In mansions of the blest, 
The wicked cease from troubling. 

The weary are at rest." 

But while in loving accents 

Stole forth the whisper mild. 
The bright-winged stranger's footsteps 

Drew nearer to the child. 

With soothing air, and gentle, 

As with intent to bless, 
He touched the throbbing temples. 

In unsought tenderness. 

Light was his thin hand's pressure ; 

But when it passed away, 
"With smiles of a bright dreamer 

Tlie peaceful sleeper lay. 

^ : i:^ 



5g 

AT REST. 133 



Loud, once again, harsla Toices 

Rose fiercely on the air ; 
The child slept on, untroubled, 
• Serenely sweet and fair. 

Forgetful of past hoiirs 

Of pain and grief, he slept, 

While unseen spirits o'er him 
A joyous vigil kept. 

With doubting heart of wonder. 
Watching the placid face, 

The mother pressed her treasure 
Within a close embrace. 

While, as if all forgetting 

His weary life of pain, 
She wept, and cried in anguish, 

" Will he not wake again ?" 

Clear voices through that dwelling 
In silvery accents rang ; 

While to the stricken mother. 
Briefly those angels sang : 



ss- 



5g 



134 



AT REST. 



" Weep not, weep not, sad mother ! 

In mansions of the blest 
The wicked cease from troubling, 

The weary are at rest ! " 




LITTLE LEONARD'S LAST GOOD-NIGHT, 



C. BOWLES SOUTHEY. 




000 night ! good night ! 1 go to sleep," ^ 
he ' Murmured the little child ; 

And 0, the ray of heaven that broke 
On the sweet lips that faintly spoke 
That soft " Good night," and smiled ! 



That angel smile ! that loving look 

From the dim closing eyes ! 
The peace of that pure brow ! But there — 
Ay, on that brow, so young ! so fair ! — 

An awful shadow lies. 



The gloom of evening, of the boughs 
That o'er yon window wave — 



* These were the dying words of a little child related to the author, uttered 
at the moment of its departure. 



■1^ 



S3 

136 LITTLE Leonard's last good-night. 

Xay, nay, within these silent walls 
A deeper, darker shadow falls, — 
The twilight of the grave. 

The twilight of the grave, — for still 

Fast comes the fluttering breath. 
One fading smile, — one look of love, — 
A murmur, as from brooding dove, — 
" Good night I " — And this is Death ! 

0, who hath called thee " terrible," 

Mild angel, most benign ? 
Could mother's fondest lullaby 
Have laid to rest more blissfully 

That sleeping babe, than thine ? 

Yet this is death ! — the doom for all 

Of Adam's race decreed : 
" But this poor lamb ! this little one ! 
What had the guiltless creature done ? " 

Unhappy heart 1 take heed ! 

Though He is merciful as just, 
Who hears that fond appeal ; — 



g5- 



-^ 



LITTLE Leonard's last good-night. 137 

He will not break the bruised reed ; 
He will not search the wounds that bleed : 
He only wounds to heal. 

" Let little children come to me," 

He cried, and to his breast 
Folded them tenderly ; to-day 
He calls thine unshorn lamb away 

To that securest rest ! 




-^ 



NELLIES REQUEST. 



MRS. SIGOURNEY 




utXt was a shaded chamber, 
^ A silent, watching band, 
^^ >^ On a low couch a suffering child, 
"Who grasped the mother's hand. 



She had told her faith in Jesus, 
Her simple prayer was said, 

And now that darkened vale she trod, 
Which leadeth to the dead. 



Red fever scorched her bosom. 
Frost chilled the \dtal flame, 

And her sweet, meek brow was troubled. 
As anguish smote her frame. 



5g 

nelly's request. 139 



Yet, 'mid the gasp and struggle, 
With shuddering lips, she cried, 

" O mother, dearest mother ! 
Bury me by your side." 

" But where will you be buried ? 

My darling Nelly, — where ? 
In that green, shady dell you loved. 

With early violets fair, 

" Or in the ancient churchyard, 
Where we were wont to stray, 

'Mid the white marble monuments ? 
My Httle Nelly, say ! " 

But the thought of flowers had faded, 
The green dell charmed no more ; 

Dim grew those marble monuments, 
With all their lettered lore. 

And one lone image lingered, 
Bright 'mid the wreck of earth, 

That love which with her soul was knit, 
Even from the hour of birth. 



140 nelly's request. 

One only wish she uttered, 
While life was ebbing fast, — 

" Sleep by my side, dear mother, 
And rise with me at last." 

'Tis o'er, — the spirit parted. 
With that long, tender moan ; 

Check not thy grief, fond mother, 
Thou daughterless and lone. 

Weep freely, — Christ hath hallowed 
The tear that nature wrings ; 

And see how peaceful rests the clay, 
That pain no longer stings. 

Look ! look ! the thin lip quivers. 
The blue eyes open wide. 

And what a soft, low whisper steals, - 
" Bury me by your side." 

And did the spirit falter 

Upon its upward track, 
To strew this never-dying flower 

In tender token back ? 



%■ 



-^ 



NELLYS REQUEST. 



141 



Even at the gate of heaven, 
Whence songs of angels flow, 

Remembered it the cradle-hymn 
That soothed its infant woe ? 

mother's love ! thus strong to lure 

A seraph from on high ; 
Be faithful to thy trust, and hear 

Thy nurslings to the sky. 




-(55 



^- 



FROM THE MAY QUEEN/^ 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 



NEW-YEAE'S EYE. 

I you 're waking, call me early, call me 

early, mother dear, 
For I would see the sun rise upon the 

glad New-year; 
It is the last New-year that I shall ever 
see, 
l-WJ/ Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and 
think no more of me. 




To-night I saw the sun set : he set, and left behind 

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of 

mind ; 
And the New-year 's coming up, mother, but I shall never 

see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. 



^- 



^ 

NEAT tear's eve. 143 



Last May we made a crown of flowers : we had a merry 
day; 

Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen 
of May ; 

And we danced about the May-pole, and in the hazel 
copse, 

Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney- 
tops. 

There 's not a flower on all the hills ; the frost is on the 

pane : 
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again : 
I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on 

high, 
I long to see a flower so, before the day I die. 

The building rook 'ill caw from the windy, tall elm-tree, 

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, 

And the swallow 'ill come back again, with summer, o'er 

the wave, 
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave. 

Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine. 
In the early, early morning the summer sun 'ill shine. 



1^ 



s^— 

144 THE MAY queen: 



Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, 
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is 
still. 

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn 

shade, 
And you '11 come sometimes and see me, where I am lowly 

laid. 
I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you 

pass. 
With your feet above my head, in the long and pleasant 

grass. 

I have been wild and wayward, but you '11 forgive me 

now; 
You '11 kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go : 
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild. 
You should not fret for me, mother, you have another 

child. 

If I can, I '11 come again, mother, from out my resting- 
place, 

Though you '11 not see me, mother, I shall look upon your 
face ; 



^- 



NEW year's eve. 145 



Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you 

say, 
And be often, often with you, when you think I 'm far 

away. 

Good night, good night, when I have said good night for 

evermore. 
And you see me carried out from the threshold of the 

door ; 
Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing 

green : 
She '11 be a better child to you than ever I have been. 

She '11 find my garden tools upon the granary floor : 

Let her take 'em : they are hers : I shall never garden 

more : 
But tell her, when I 'm gone, to train the rose-bush that 

I set 
About the parlor window and the box of mignonette. 

Good night, sweet mother, call me before the day is born. 
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn ; 
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year, 
So, if you 're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear. 

10 

^ 



^ 

146 THE MAY queen: 



w 




CONCLUSION 



pi tu 01X001 to pass away before, and yet 
Mk) alive I am ; 

^ And in the fields all round I hear the 
bleating of the lamb. 
How sadly, I remember, rose the morn- 
ing of the year ! 
To die before the snowdrop came, and 
now the violet 's here. 



sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice, to me that cannot 

rise, 
And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that 

blow, 
And sweeter far is death than life, to me that long to go. 

It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed 

sun, 
And now it seems as hard to stay, — and yet His will be 

done ! 



a- 



eg 

CONCLUSION. 147 



But still I think it can't be long before I find release ; 
And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of 
peace. 

blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver hair ! 
And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me 
there ! 

blessings on his kindly heart, and on his silver head I 

A thousand times I blessed him as he knelt beside my bed. 

He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all the 

sin. 
Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there 's One will 

let me in : 
Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be, 
For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me. 

1 did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch 

beat; 
There came a sweeter token, when the night and morning 

meet : 
But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in 

mine, 
And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign. 



-;js 



^- 



148 THE MAY queen: 

All ill the wild March morning, I heard the angels call ; 
It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over 

all; 
The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll. 
And in the wild March morning I heard them call my 

soul. 

For, lying broad awake, I thought of you and Effie dear ; 
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here ; 
With all my strength I prayed for both, and so I felt 

resigned, 
And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. 

I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed. 
And then did something speak to me, — I know not what 

was said ; 
For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my 

mind. 
And up the valley came again the music on the wind. 

But you were sleeping ; and I said, " It 's not for them, it 's 

mine." 
And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a 



CONCLUSION. 149 



And once again it came, and close beside the window- 
bars, 

Then seemed to go right up to heaven, and die among the 
stars. 

So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I 

know 
The blessed music went that way my soul will have 

to go. 
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day, — 
But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am passed 

away. 

look ! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a 

glow; 
He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I 

know. 
And there I move no longer now, and there his light may 

shine, — 
Wild-flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. 

sweet and strange it seems to me, that, ere this day is 

done, 
The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun, — 



150 



THE MAY QUEEN. 



Forever and forever with those just souls and true ! — 
And what is life, that we should moan ? why make we 
such ado ? 

Forever and forever, all in a blessed home, — 
And there to wait a little while, till you and Effie come, — 
To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast, — 
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are 
at rest. 



^^p- 




^ 



-%^ 



NOTHING BUT LOVE! 



MRS. sigournp:y. 



" After a while, he opened his dying eyes, and fixed them earnestly on hi 
father, who, thinking that he wanted something, said, " What is it, dear Willie ? ' 
"Nothing," he replied, " nothing but love," — Memoir of William B, Kimber. 




0tljin:0 but love ! '^ 
O boy of a few summers ! Thou wert wise 
The warrior's lore above, 
Above the monarch's pride, 
Who lose the spirit's clew, 'mid earth's 
unrest. 
And seek an unknown shore, 
Where time's fleet dream is o'er, 
Without the passport of the Crucified ; 
Still from thy large blue, lustrous eye, 



^- 



152 



NOTHING BUT LOVE 



And the faint pulses of thy failing breast, 
Spoke forth the peace of heaven, that cannot die, 
Though sternest death-clouds rise : 
Wealth fades ; ambition on the blast doth fly ; 
But love for ever breathes the essence of the sky. 




-sg 



THE DYING CHILD^S REQUEST, 



JAMES MONTGOMERY 



yMm^ 




itXtXXtXKf a little maiden said, 
Almost with her expiring sigh, 
Put no sweet roses round my head 
When in my coffin dress I lie." 



" Why not, my dear ? " the mother cried ; 
" What flower so well a corpse adorns ? " 
" Mamma," the innocent replied, 
^ "They crowned our Saviour's head 

with thorns." 



sfi- 



■n 



LITTLE ALLIE. 




Elttltlil^ when will the spring be here? " 

Said little Allie C, 
A lovely child, with blooming cheek, 

And years that numbered three. 

" And why does Allie wish for spring ? — 

To welcome back again 
The bloom of flowers, the song of birds, 

The sunshine and the rain ? '* 



" 'T is not for these," she answering said. 

With sweet and serious air, 
" But then to church will Allie go, — 

And God, you know, is there." 



^- 



82 



_ — ^ 

LITTLE ALLIE. 155 



" Do you love God, Althea ? " I asked. 

" very, very much ! " 
" His grace be on thee, little one ! 

His kingdom is of such." 

" To-morrow will be spring," I said ; 

And then she ran away, 
And soon I heard her merry voice 

Lisping amid her play : 

" To-morrow will the spring be here ; - 

How happy I shall be ! " 
Her warbled words fell on my ear 

Like some dim prophecy. 

That night the little Allie lay 

In fever's dread embrace ; 
And ere the morn a fearful change 

Passed o'er her infant face. 

And when the early light of day 
Awoke the dawning spring, 

Her gentle spirit from the earth 
To heaven had taken wing. 



-^- 



156 LITTLE ALLIE. 



'T was on that first glad day of spring 

We laid her in the tomb, 
And left her to her dreamless sleep, 

Amid the opening bloom. 

And while upon the coffin-lid 
The earth fell cold and chill, 

Within our pierced and sorrowing hearts, 
Her words were breathing still : 

" To-morrow I shall happy be ! 

So happy ! " — Precious one ! 
Within thy Father's house on high 

Thy worship first begun. 




-^ 



^ 



5g 



LET ME GO!'' 




it the hedges arc in bloom, 

And the warm west-wind is blowing ; 
Let me leave this stifled room, 

Let me go where flowers are growing ! 

" Look ! my cheek is thin and pale. 

And my pulse is very low : 
Ere my sight begins to fail, 

Mother dear, you '11 let me go ! 



" Was not that the robin's sona; 

Piping through the casement wide ? 
I shall not be listening long : 

Take me to the meadow-side ; 



^ 



158 "LET ME go!' 



" Bear me to the willow brook ; 

Let me hear the merry rill ; 
On the orchard I must look, 

Ere my beating heart is still. 

" Faint and fainter grows my breath, — 
Bear me quickly down the lane : 

Mother dear, this chill of death — 
I shall never speak again ! " 

Still the hedges are in bloom, 

And the warm west-wind is blowing ; 
Still we sit in silent gloom, — 

O'er her grave the grass is growing. 







^M^% 



■5^ 



MOTHER, I'M TIRED." 



TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. 



mm:. ^ 

'Otl)tXf I 'm tired, and I would fain be 
sleeping ! 
Let me repose upon tliy bosom seek : 
But promise me that thou wilt leave off 
weeping, 
Because thy tears fall hot upon my 
cheek. 
Here it is cold : the tempest raveth 
'"^ madly : 

But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright ! 
1 see the angel-children smiling gladly. 

When from my weary eyes I shut out light. 




Mother, one stands beside me now ! and, listen ! 
Dost thou not hear the music's sweet accord ? 



^- 



1^ 



s^^ 

IGO "mother, I '31 TIRED." 

See liow his white wings beautifully glisten ! 

Surely those wings were given him by our Lord ! 
Green, gold, and red are floating all around me : — 

They are the flowers the angel scattereth. 
Shall I have also wings whilst life has bound me ? 

Or, mother, are they given me alone in death ? 

Why dost thou clasp mo as if I were going ? 

"Why dost thou press thy check thus unto mine ? 
Thy cheek is hot, and yet thy tears are flowing : 

I will, dear mother, will be always thine ! 
Do not sigh thus, — it marrcth my reposing ; 

And if thou weep, then I must weep with thee ! 
0, 1 am tired, — my weary eyes are closing ! 

Look, mother, look ! the angel kisseth me ! 




-92 



LITTLE BESSIE; 



AND THE WAY IN WHICH SHE EELL ASLEEP, 



A. D. F. E. 




fe^ Itn me closer, closer, mother, 

Put your arms around me tiglit ; 
I am cold and tired, mother, 
And I feel so strange to-night ! 
Something hurts me here, dear mother. 

Like a stone upon my breast : 
0, 1 wonder, wonder, mother. 
Why it is I cannot rest. 

All the day, while you were working, 

While I lay upon my bed, 
I was trying to be patient. 

And to think of what you said ; — 
11 



162 LITTLE BESSIE. 



How the kind and blessed Jesus 
Loves liis lambs to watch and keep, 

And I wished he 'd come and take me 
In his arms, that I might sleep. 



Just before the lamp was lighted, 

Just before the children came, 
While the room was very quiet, 

I heard some one call my name. 
All at once the window opened : 

In a field were lambs and sheep ; 
Some from out a brook were drinking, 

Some were lying fast asleep. 



Eut I could not see the Saviour, 

Though I strained my eyes to see ; 
And I wondered if he saw me, 

If he 'd speak to such as me : 
In a moment I was looking 

On a world so bright and fair, 
Which was full of little children. 

And they seemed so happy there ! 



3S- 



5g 

LITTLE BESSIE. 163 



They were singing, liow sweetly ! 

Sweeter songs I never heard ; 
They were singing sweeter, mother, 

Than can sing our yellow-bird : 
And while I my breath was holding. 

One so bright upon me smiled ; 
And I knew it must be Jesus, 

When he said, " Come hei^c, my child ! 



" Come up here, my little Bessie, 

Come up here, and live with me. 
Where the children never suifer, 

But are happier than you see." 
Then I thought of all you 'd told mo 

Of that bright and happy land ; 
I was going when you called me, 

When you came and kissed my hand. 



And at first I felt so sorry 

You had called me ; I would go 

to sleep, and never suffer ! — 
Mother don't be crying so ! 



-?^, 



ss 

164 LITTLE BESSIE. 



Hug me closer, closer, mother. 
Put your arms around me tight : 

how much I love you, mother ! 
But I feel so strange to-night ! 

And the mother pressed her closer 

To her oA^erburdened breast ; 
On the heart so near to breaking 

Lay the heart so near its rest. 
In the solemn hour of midnight, 

In the darkness calm and deep. 
Lying on her mother's bosom, 

Little Bessie fell asleep ! 




THEY BECKON ME A¥AY. 



G. R. EMERSON. 



tl I they thought who carved the angeh 

111 the old cathedral piles, 
Where the little children's faces 
Smile upon the solemn aisles : 
Symbols meet of faitli and trusting, 
Pleasures holy, thoughts of peace, 
Spirits infant-like, rejoicing, 

Where all tears and sorrows cease. 

Every morn a flower waketh, 

Every eve a blossom dies. 
Scarcely opened to the sunlight, 

Ere upon the earth it lies. 




-85 



^ _ — ^ 

166 THEY BECKON ME AWAY. 



Little children, God's own flowers, 
Sleep upon the mother's breast : 

Ere the morn of childhood fadeth, 
Angels call them to their rest. 



Mourn not for the little children 

In the grassy graves that lie ; 
They have passed, with souls unspotted, 

To their spirit-home on high ; 
Death hath left them smiling faces. 

Death hath been the voice of love, 
Calling them from sin and sorrow 

To the better land above. 



On a bed a young one lieth, 

There is sorrow in the place ; 
Tearful-eyed the mother gazeth 

On that sweet and pallid face : 
Little children, treading softly. 

Cluster, weeping, round the bed ; 
Loving voices whisper lowly, 

Tender arms support the head. 

g^ ^ ^ 



S5 $g 

THEY BECKON ME AWAY. 167 

Hark ! the dying child is speaking ; 

Now the mother draweth near ; 
Now the shadowy hand upraised 

Wipes away the starting tear. 
Softly to her bursting bosom 

Is the dying dear one pressed ; 
Faintly droops its fevered forehead 

On the shelter of her breast. 



" Mother, mother, press me closer ! 

There 's a light upon your face ; 
Angels bright, with baby faces, 

Make a sunshine in the place : 
See you not their faces, mother ? 

Hear you not the words they say ? 
Now they smile upon me sweetly, 

Now they beckon me away. 



" Hush 1 tread softly ! press me closer ! 

Bid my little sisters kneel ; 
They are coming nearer, nearer, — 

Now their breath I seem to feel : 



^ 



^ 

168 THEY BECKON ME AWAY. 

Now a solemn strain is sounding, 
Now they whisper in my ear, 

Like the swell of that sweet music 
In the church I used to hear. 



" Mother, tell me, am I dying ? 

Are those angels that I see ? 
Are they sent by God from heaven ? 

Have they come to summon me ? 
Will they smile upon my sisters, 

As they smile upon me now ? 
Shall I wear an angel's visage, 

Bear a brightness on my brow ? 



" Mother, lay me near the pathway 

Where to church the children pass, 
Where we used to sit in summer 

'Midst the flowers and the grass. 
Wondering if they heard our voices 

Who beneath so peaceful slept, — 
If the angels that we read of 

O'er the dead their watchings kept. 

^ 



THEY BECKON ME AWAY. 169 



" Shall I hear my little sisters 

When at evening-time they pray ? 
Shall I look on them when sleeping ? 

Shall I see them in the clay ? 
Sometimes let them come, dear mother, 

To the grave wherein I lie ; 
Tell them, mother, mother dearest, 

'T is a happy thing to die. 



" Kiss me once again, my mother. 

For your face is shining hright ; 
I can scarcely see my sisters. 

For the room is full of light. 
Now they bend their shining faces, 

Now they kiss me on the cheek, — 
See you not the smiles they give me ? 

Hear you not the words they speak ? 



" Now again that strain of music, 
Thrilling, thrilling through the air 

Thousand, thousand infant voices 
Holy hymns are singing there. 



^- 



-52 



^- 



170 



THEY BECKON ME AWAY. 



Clasp me tighter, mother, kiss me, — 
Closer, closer, while I pray ! 

Now the light, the music, mother, 
farewell ! away, — away ! " 



Smooth the hair, and close the eyelids, 

Let the window-curtains fall ; 
With a smile upon her features, 

She hath answered to the call. 
Let the children kiss her gently, 

As she lies upon the bed ; 
God hath called her to his bosom, 

And the little one is dead. 




^- 



^ 



TAKE ME EROM THIS ROOM. 



EDWARD W. COX. 



IlllU me from tliis close, dark room, — 

from this uneasy bed ! 
The clothes, so white and shroud-like, lie 
upon my breast like lead ; 
^The ancient ebon wardrobe, and the picture on 

the wall, 
ind the ticking of the watch, — mother, I 'm 
weary of them all. 

take me where the glad free air may visit me 
again, 
And the rich evening sun-ray soothe the sullen throb of 

pain, — 
Where I may see the grass, affd hear the bird upon the 

bough, 
And feel the breath of the early Spring upon my cheek 
and brow ! 




172 O TAKE ME FROM THIS BOOM. 

Then bear me from this dreary room, where everything 

I see 
Recalls some hour of anguish, or some dream of agony ; 
Where you have bent above me, mother, and listened to 

my moan. 
And felt the pangs of your dying child more keenly than 

your own ! 

There, — lay me on that primrose bank, — it was my fa- 
vorite seat ; 

I planted it, and watered it, — how clean it was, and neat ! 

The flowers are all neglected now, the weeds have grown 
so fast : 

I little thought that happy, happy summer was my last ! 

How delicate the air is ! — all the flowers are coming out. 
The glad spring flowers, to shed their stores of sweetness 

round about ; 
The bee is on the wing, the merry swallows sweep the sky, 
The gnat hums in the sunbeam, — mother, all things are 

glad but I. 

Last spring I was so happy, — the linnet on the bough, 
The wild bee was not half so gay, — and I am dying now ! 



U- 



9S 

O TAKE ME FROM THIS ROOM. 173 

I crowned me with the May-bloom then, I revelled in the 
flowers, 

And only by the joys they knew counted the passing- 
hours. 

Bring me my geranium, mother, for now I want to see 
My little favorite, how it grows, — if any flower there be : 
Ah ! there 's a bud ; but oh ! I shall not live to see it 

bloom ! — 
'T will be so strong and beautiful, when I am in the tomb. 

I always dearly loved the flowers : let heaps of them bo 

spread 
Upon me in my coffin cold, — the living with the dead ! 
And do, dear mother, see that on my little grave is set 
My own sweet lilac-bush and plant of purple violet. 

My walnut-tree, too, watch it well, when I am gone away ; 

With my own hands I planted it, upon my third birth- 
day. 

They told me I should live to sit beneath its broad, green 
shade, 

And count the branches on its trunk, that many years had 
made. 



Sfi- 



174 



O TAKE ME FROM THIS ROOM. 



I wish it was the Autumn, — I should not care to die, 
When the rich green leaves and the glorious flowers fade, 

as well as I : 
But in this merry month of May, when all things are 

awake — 
Pray for me, mother, to endure, pray, for pity's sake ! 




^- 



-^ 



THE LAST WISHES 



IvTlCiO' a boy whose infant feet had trod 
Upon the blossoms of some seven springs, 
And when the eighth came round, and 

called him out 
To revel in its light, he turned away, 
And sought his chamber, to lie down and die. 
'T was night ; he summoned his accustomed 
friends, 
And in this wise bestowed his last requests : — 




" Mother, I 'm dying now : 
There 's a deep suffocation on my breast. 
As if some heavy hand my bosom pressed. 
And on my brow I feel the cold sweat stand. 
Say, mother, is this death ? Mother, your hand ! 



-m 



176 THE LAST WISHES. 



Here, lay it on my wrist, 
And place the other thus, beneath my head ; 
And say, sweet mother, say, when I am dead, 

Shall I be missed ? 



" Never, beside your knee, 
Shall I kneel down at night to pray. 
Nor in the morning wake, and sing the lay 

You taught to mo ? 

0, at the time of prayer. 
When you look round, and see a yacant seat, 
You will not wait then for my coming feet. 

You '11 miss me there. 



" Father, I 'm going home, — 
To that great home you spoke of, that blest land 
Where there is one bright summer, always bland, 

And tortures do not come. 

From faintness and from pain. 
From troubles, fears, you say I shall be free ; 
That sickness does not enter there, and wc 

Shall meet again. 



_ — 5g 

THE LAST WISHES. 177 



" Brother, the little spot 
I used to call my garden, where long hours 
We 've stayed to watch the commg buds and flowers. 

Forget it not. 

Plant there some box or pine, 
Something that lives in winter, and will be 
A verdant ofFering to my memory, 

And call it mine. 



" Sister, the young rose-tree. 
That all the spring has been my jjleasant care. 
Just putting forth its leaves so green and fair, 

I give to thee : 

And when its roses bloom 
I shall be gone away, — my short course run : 
And will you not bestow a single one 

Upon my tomb ? 



" Now mother, sing the tune 
You sang last night. I 'm weary, and must sleep. 
Who was it called my name ? Nay, do not weep, 

You '11 all come soon." 

12 



^ 

178 THE LAST WISHES. 



Morning spread over earth her rosy wings, 
And that meek sufferer, cold, and ivory pale, 
Lay on his couch asleep. The morning air 
Came through the open window, freighted with 
The fragrant odors of the lovely Spring ; 
He breathed it not. The laugh of passers-by 
Jarred like a discord in some mournful note, 
But troubled not his slumber. He was dead ! 




^- 



NOT ALONE 



MARGARET JUNKIN. 



llltlC child, whose sweet and ringing 

laugh 
Made music for the household, whose 

gay step 
Kept time to the light measure of her 
heart, 
Whose nature ever claimed a kindredship 
With glad and joyous things, and only foimd 
Pleasure in these when others shared them 
too, — 

This loving, fair, companionable child 
Lay struggling wearily with mortal pain ; 
The sportive light had faded from her eye, 
The laughter from her lip, the playful mien 




-^ 



^ ^ 

180 NOT ALOXE. 



From her whole being, as the radiant path 
Through which she danced her pleasant hours away 
Darkened beneath a sudden giant shadow, 
That stalked between her and life's golden sun. 
She raised her young eyes wonderingly, and sought 
To know whence came the gloom ; and she was told 
That the mysterious shadow's name was Death, 
And he was come to call her to a land 
Where no such startling presence ever more 
Should mar her joy. 

Imploringly she twined 
Her arms about her father, as he knelt. 
Tearful, beside her, and thus fondly plead : 
" Father, go with me ! then I will not fear 
The dark, deep valley thou hast told me of. 
Nor tremble, if thy hand is holding mine ; 
But not alone, father, I entreat thee. 
Let not thy little one depart alone ! " 
" Nay, daughter," — and the father's tears fell fast 
Upon the silken ringlets, as he kissed 
Her pallid forehead, — " Nay, my precious child ! 
Thou shalt not go alone : the Saviour's hand, 
A kinder, surer, tenderer hand than mine. 



-^ 



NOT ALONE. 181 



Will lift thee up, am' gently carry thee 
Home to thy mother, daninQ, and thy God ! 
Thou art not fearful now ? '' 

The eager eyes 
Closed a brief moment, and intense thought 
Burdened the brow, as, gathering up its strength, 
The spirit turned its anxious gaze within, 
And there demanded answer. When again 
The quivering lash was lifted, the dim clouds 
Which doubt and fear had summoned all were gone 
And the familiar look of joy came back. 
Filling her soul with sunshine. From her lips, 
Now tremulous with death, a murmur broke, 
But half articulate, of glad consent 
And joyous exultation, which, to him 
Whose ear caught up its precious meaning, seemed 
The first faint prelude to that heavenly song 
Which the sweet angel-child should sing forever ! 



m ^ i^ 



-sg 



MY HEART IS PAINT. 




MAEY HOWITT. 

IT heart is very faint and low ; 
My thoughts like spectres come and go ; 
I feel a numbing sense of woe : 
Until to-day it was not so ; 

I know not what this change may be. 

THE UNSEEN ANGEL OF DEATH. 

It is my voice within that calls ; 

It is my shadow, child, that falls 
Upon thy spirit, and appalls, 
That hems thee in like dungeon walls, — 
My presence that o'ershadoweth thee. 



95- 



. 5S 

MY HEART IS FAINT. 183 



mother, leave me not alone ! 

1 am afeared, my heart 's like stone ; 
A dull pain cleaveth brain and bone ; 
I feel a pang till now unknown. 

Stay with me for one little hour ! 

soothe me with thy low replies ! 

1 cannot bear the children's cries ; 
And when I hear their voices rise^ 
Impatient tears o'erflow my eyes ; 

My will seems not within my power. 

Poor Johnny brought me flowers last night, 
The blue-bell and the violet white ; 
Then they were pleasant to my sight, 
But now they give me no delight, — 

And yet I crave for something still. 
Eeach me the merry bulfinch here, — 
He knows my voice ; I think 't will cheer 
My heart his piping song to hear. 
Ah ! I forgot, that bird so dear 

Was sold to pay the baker's bill. 

why was Mary sent away ? 

1 only asked that she might stay 



-^ 



184 MY HEART IS FAINT. 

Beside me for one little day ; 

I thought not to be answered nay. 

Just one, — I would have asked no more. 
Forgive me if I 'm hard to please : — 
Mother, weep not ! give me ease ! 
Raise me, and lay me on thy knees ! 
I know not what new pangs are these ; 

I never felt the like before. 

It is so stifling in this room ! — 
Can it be closer in the tomb ? 
I feel encompassed by a gloom. 
father, father, leave the loom ! 

It makes me dizzy, like a mill. 
Father, I feel thy hot tears fall ; 
If thou hast thought my patience small, 
Forgive me ! Fain would I recall 
Each hasty word, — I love you all : 

I will be patient, will be still. 

THE ID^SEElsr ANGEL OF DEATH. 

Be still ! my pinions o'er thee spread ; 
A duller, heavier weight than lead 
Benumbs thee, and the life hath fled. 



m- 



^- 



MY HEART IS FAINT, 



^ 



185 



Child, thou hast passed the portals dread, 

Thou now art of the earth no more. 
Arise ! thy spiritual wings unfold ! 
Poor slave of hunger, want, and cold. 
Thou now hast wealth surpassing gold, 
Hast bliss no poet's tongue hath told : 
Rejoice, all pain, all fear is o'er ! 




^^ 



-i^ 



S2 




¥EEP NOT. 

CECIL. 

tltSC here longer to detain me, 
Fondest mother, drowned in woe ; 

Now thy fond caresses pain me, 
Morn advances, let me go ! 



See yon orient streak appearing, 

Harbinger of endless day ; 
Hark ! a voice, the darkness cheering, 

Calls my new-born soul away. 



Lately launched, a trembling stranger, 
O'er the world's wild, boisterous flood, - 

Pierced with sorrows, tossed with danger. 
Gladly I return to God. 



-1>Z 



WEEP NOT. 187 



Now my cries shall cease to grieve tliee, 
Now my trembling heart find rest ; 

Kinder arms than thine receive me, 
Softer pillow than thy breast. 

Weep not o'er these eyes that languish, 
Upward turning toward their home ; 

Raptured, they '11 forget all anguish. 
While they wait to see thee come. 

There, my mother, pleasures centre ; 

Weeping, parting, care, or woe. 
Ne'er our Father's house shall enter : 

Morn advances, let me go ! 

As through this calm and peaceful dawning 
Silent glides my parting breath 

To an everlasting morning. 
Gently close my eyes in death. 

Blessings endless, richest blessings, 
Pour their streams upon thy heart ! 

Though no language yet possessing. 
Breathes my spirit ere we part. 



^- 



188 



WEEP NOT, 



Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends me, 
Though again His voice I hear ; 

Rise ! may every grace attend thee ! 
Rise, and seek to meet me there ! 




^ 



-sg 



THE BOY AND THE ANGEL 



MRS. SAWYER. 




ITtOlIjt r 1 I 've been with an angel to- 
day : 
I was out, all alone, in the forest at play, 
/ '' " Chasing the butterflies, watching the bees, 
^ And hearing the woodpeckers tapping the trees. 



So I played and I played, till so weary I grew, 
And I sat down to rest 'neath the shade of a yew ; 
While the birds sang so sweetly, high up in its top, 
~^I held my breath, mother, for fear they would stop. 



" There a long time I sat, looking up in the sky, 
And watching the clouds that went hurrying by ; 
When I heard a voice calling, just over my head. 
That sounded as if ' Come up, brother ! ' it said. 



ds 



^ 

190 THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. 

" When there, i^ght up over the top of the tree, 
mother ! an angel was beckoning to me. 
And ' Brother ! ' once more, ' brother ! ' he cried, 
And flew, on bright pinions, close down by my side. 

" And, mother ! never was being so bright, 

As the one that then beamed on my wondering sight ! 

His face was as fair as the delicate shell. 

His hair down his shoulders in fair ringlets fell ; 

" His eyes, resting on me, so melting with love, 
"Were as soft and as mild as the eyes of a dove ; 
And somehow, dear mother, I felt not afraid 
As his hand on my brow he caressingly laid, 

" And whispering softly and gently to me, 

' Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee ! ' 

And then on my forehead he tenderly pressed 

Such kisses, — mother, they thrilled through my breast ! 

" At last, on my head a deep blessing he poured, 
Then plumed his bright wings, and upward he soared ; 
And up, up he went, through the blue sky so far. 
He seemed to float there like a glittering star. 



g) 

THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. 191 

" Yet still my eyes followed his radiant flight, 
Till, lost in the azure, he passed from my sight ; 
When, how I feared, as I caught the last gleam 
Of his vanishing form, it was only a dream ! " 

pale grew the mother, and heavy her heart, 
For she knew her fair boy from the world must depart ; 
That his bright looks must fade in the dust of the tomb. 
Ere the autumn winds wither the summer's rich bloom. 

0, how his young footsteps she watched day by day, 
As his delicate form wasted slowly away, — 
Till the soft light of heaven seemed shed on his face. 
And he crept up to die in her loving embrace ! 

" clasp me, my mother, close, close to thy breast ! 
On that gentle pillow again let me rest ; 
Let me gaze up once more to that dear loving eye. 
And then, methinks, I am ready to die. 

" And kiss me, dear mother ! — quickly, for see ! 
The bright, blessed angels are waiting for me ! " 
So wild was the anguish that swept through her breast, 
As the long frantic kiss on his pale lips she pressed. 



^- 



192 THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. 

And felt the vain search of his, soft, loving eye. 
As it strove to meet hers ere the fair boy could die ! 
"I see you not, mother, for darkness and night 
Are hiding your dear loving face from my sight. 

" But I hear your low sobbings, — dear mother, good by ! 

The angels are ready to bear me on high ; 

I will wait for you there, — tarry not long, 

Lest grief at your absence should sadden my song. " 

He ceased, and his hands meekly clasped on his breast, 
While his sweet face sank down on his pillow to rest ; 
Then, closing his eyes, now all rayless and dim, 
Went up with the angels that waited for him. 




■?s 



-^ 



I AM CONTENT TO DIE, BUT OH! NOT NOW!^' 



Il \ 




MRS. NORTON. 



'ill liter her slow step falls from day to 
clay; 
Death's hand is heavy on her dark- 
ening brow ; 
Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say, 

" I am content to die, — but oh ! not now ! 
Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring 
Make the warm air such luxury to breathe ; 
Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing ; 

Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe : 
Spare me, great God ! lift up my drooping brow ; 
I am content to die, — but oh ! not now ! " 

13 



g? — 5e 

194 "l AM CONTENT TO DIE, BUT OH! NOT N O AY ! " 

The spring hath ripened into summer time, 

The season's viewless boundary is past ; 
The glorious sun hath reached his burning prime : 

0, must this glimpse of beauty be the last ? 
" Let me not perish while o'er land and lea, 

With silent steps, the Lord of light moves on ; 
Not while the murmur of the mountain bee 

Greets my dull car with music in its tone ! 
Pale sickness dims my eye, and clouds my brow ; — 
I am content to die, — but oh ! not now ! " 

Summer is gone ; and autumn's soberer hues 

Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn ; 
The huntsman swift the flying game pursues, 

Shouts the halloo ! and winds his eager horn. 
" Spare me awhile to wander forth and gaze 

On the broad meadows, and the quiet stream, 
To watch in silence while the evening rays 

Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam ; 
Cooler the breezes play around my brow ; 
I am content to die, — but oh ! not now ! " 

The bleak wind whistles ; snow-showers, far and near, 

Drift without echo to the whitening ground ; 

I 
^ — (^ 



"I AM CONTENT TO DIE, BUT OH! NOT NOW!" 195 

Autumn liath passed away, and, cold and drear. 
Winter stalks on, with frozen mantle bound : 

Yet still that prayer ascends : "0, laughingly 
My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd. 

Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high, 
And the roof rings with voices light and loud ; 

Spare me awhile ; raise up my drooping brow ; 

I am content to die, — but oh ! not now ! " 

The spring is come again, — the joyful spring! 

Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread ; 
The wild-bird dips upon his wanton wing : 

The child of earth is numbered with the dead ! 
Thee never more the sunshine shall awake, 

Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane ; 
The steps of friends thy slumbers may not break, 

Nor fond, familiar voice arouse again ! 
Death's silent shadow veils thy darkened brow. 
Why didst thou linger ? thou art happier now. 



■^ 



^■ 



THE mi^G BLIND BOY TO HIS MOTHER. 




0IUtf^ I am dying now ! 
Death's cold damps are on my brow ! 
Leave me not, — each pang grows 



stronger, — 



Patient watch a little longer. 
Sweet it is your voice to hear, 
:Life;/ Though dull and heavy grows mine ear ; 
/^^iy(K'^5?P> Wait and take my last adieu, 
;<^ ""^ Qly - Never mother loved like you ! 
Though your form I ne'er might sec, 
Your image was not hid from me : 
Stamped on my adoring mind, 
Beautiful, but imdefined, 
Ever fair, and ever bright, 



That vision filled me with delight. 



S5 



THE DYING BLIND BOY TO HIS MOTIIEK. 197 



Well I knew, wliate'er might be 

Those oft-praised forms I could not see, 

Might I all their beauty view, 

None of them would rival you. 

Life to me was sweet and dear. 

While I lived thy tales to hear, 

Told by you, on wintry hearth. 

All to make your blind boy mirth ; 

And I loved my voice to join 

In chorus of those hymns divine. 

By which you fondly taught your boy 

To look to heaven with hope and joy. 

Sun or moon I could not see. 

But love measured time for me ; 

When your kiss my slumber broke. 

Then I knew the morn had woke ; 

When I heard the loud winds blow, 

And I felt the warm fire glow. 

Then I knew 't was winter wild. 

And kept at home, — your helpless child ! 

When the air grew mild and soft, 

And the gay lark sang aloft. 

And I heard the streamlet flowing. 

And I smelt the wild-flower blowino:. 



I 

I 198 THE DYING BLIND BOY TO HIS MOTHER. 



And the bee did round me hum, 

Then I knew the spring liad come. 

Forth I wandered with delight, 

And I knew when days were briglit ; 

"When I climbed the green hill-side. 

Fancy traced the prospect wide ; 

And 't was pleasant when I pressed 

The warm and downy turf to rest. 

Now I never more shall roam 

The many paths around my. home, 

And you will often look in yain. 

Nor hail your wandering boy again ; 

Never more on tiptoe creep, 

Where he lies as if asleep. 

Or with low and plaintive moan. 

Humming to himself alone, 

On a bed of wild-flowers stretched. 

Starting when a kiss you snatched. 

Till nature whispered 't was my mother, 

And affection gave another ! 

But 't is sweeter thus to die. 

With my tender mother by. 

Than to be in life alone. 

When she and every friend were gone. 

^ 



THE DYING BLIND BOY TO HIS MOTHER. 



199 



Mourn not o'er me, broken-hearted, 
For not long shall we be parted ; 
Soon hi vales which ever bloom. 
Which unfading flowers perfume, 
In realms of life, of light, of joy. 
You will meet your poor blind boy. 




§s- 



jYAY, MOTHER! 




K^f mother, fix not thus on me 

That streammg eye, 
And clasp not thns my freezing hand, 

For I must die. 

Deeply I 've drunk the wormwood draught. 

The grief, the pain ; 
0, ask me not one bitter drop 

To taste again ! 



My father, on my weary head, 

lay thine hand ; 
And bless me, while I yet can hear 

Thy accents bland ; 



m- 



NAY, MOTHER! 



201 



And smile, as thou wert wont to do 

In happy days, 
When I looked to thy loving eye, 

And sought its praise. 

Loved parents, when my infant couch 

Ye knelt beside, 
And asked the gracious Lord to bless 

Your hope, your pride, — 

To him ye gave the opening bud. 

The early bloom ; 
Tlien grieve not that the ripened fruit 

He gathers home. 




m 



THE SICK CHILD^S DREAM OF HEAVEN 



EOBEET NICOLL. 




Itlltytr^ mitlier, my head was sair, 

And my een wi' tears were weet, 
But the pain has gane for evermair, 
Sae, mither, dinna greet : 
And I ha'e had sic a bonny dream, 

Since last asleep I fell, 
0' a' that is holy an' gude to name. 
That I 've waiikened my dream to tell. 

I thought, on the morn o' a simmer day. 
That awa' through the clouds I flew, 

While my silken hair did wavin' play 
'Mang breezes steeped in dew ; 



— ^ 

THE SICK child's DREA3I OF HEAVEN. 203 

And the happy things o ' hfe and light 

Were round my gowden way, 
As they stood in their parent Heaven's sight 

111 the hames o' nightless day. 



An' songs o' love that nae tongne may tell 

Frae their hearts cam' flowin' free, 
Till the stars stood still, while alang did swell 

The plaintive melodic : 
And ane o' them sang wi' my mither's voice, 

Till through my heart did gao 
That chanted hymn o' my bairnhood's choice, 

Sae dowic, saft, an' wae. 



Thae happy things o' the glorious sky 

Did lead me far away, 
Where the stream o' life rins never dry, 

AVhere naething kens decay ; 
And they laid me down in a mossy bed, 

Wi' curtains o' spring-leaves green, 
xind the name o' God they praying said, 

And a light came o'er my een. 



204 THE SICK child's DREAM OF HEAVEN. 

And I saw the earth that I had left, 

And I saw my mither there ; 
And I saw her grieve that she was bereft 

0' the bairn she thought sae fair ; 
And I saw her pine till her spirit fled — 

Like a bird to its young one's nest — 
To that land of love ; and my head was laid 

Again on my mither' s breast. 



And, mither, ye took me by the hand. 

As ye were wont to do. 
And your loof, sae saft and white, I fand 

Laid on my caller brow ; 
And my lips you kissed, and my curling hair 

You round your fingers wreathed, 
And I kent that a happy mither' s prayer 

Was o'er me silent breathed ; — 



And we wandered through that happy land. 
That was gladly glorious a', — 

The dwellers there were an angel band, 
And their voices o' love did fa' 



sg 

THE SICK child's DREAM OF HEAVEN. 205 

On our ravished ears like tlic deein' tones 

0' an anthem far away, 
In a star-lit hour, when the woodland moans 

That its green is turned to gray. 



And, mither, amang the sorrowless there 

We met my brithers three, 
And your bonny May, my sister fair, 

And a happy bairn was she ; 
And she led me awa' 'mang living flowers. 

As on earth she aft has done, 
And thegither we sat in the holy bowers 

Where the blessed rest aboon ; — 



And she tauld me I was in Paradise, 

Where God in love doth dwell. 
Where the weary rest, and the mourner's voice 

Forgets its waiid-wail ; 
And she tauld me they kent na dule nor care, 

And bade me be glad to dee, 
That yon sinless land and the dwellers there 

Might be hame and kin to me. 



-^ 



m- 



206 



THE SICK CHILD S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 



Then sweetly a voice came on my ears, 

And it sounded sae holily, 
That my heart grew saft, and blabs o' tears 

Sprung up in my sleepin' e'e, 
And my inmost soul was sairly moved 

Wi' its mair than mortal joy, — 
'T was the voice o' Him wha bairnies loved, 

That wakened your dreamin' boy ! 




&6- 



MOTHER, PARE THEE WELL. 




ntyXX^ the light of day is parting 

From my weary eye, 
And my spirit is departing 

To the blessed sky : 
One imfading hope before me 

Whispers it is well ; 
Brighter visions hover o'er me 
Than the lip can tell. 
^^ 

On my young imagination 

Bursts a purer light 
Than the beauty of creation 
Sheds upon my sight ; — 



^ 



Sft 

208 MOTHER, FAKE TIIEE WELL, 



Is it l3iit a lovely vision, 
Fading in its birth, — 

Or the spirit's sweet transition 
From the bonds of earth ? 



Now my Saviour's words steal o'er me, 

Holy, kind, and sweet, — 
Little children, come before me, 

And your shepherd meet. 
Mother, will not Jesus give me 

More than earthly love ? 
Will his outstretched arms receive me 

To a home above ? 



Though on earth I have been dwelling 

But a summer's day, 
Hopes within my heart are swelling, 

As its powers decay. 
God to my young heart hath spoken 

Many a sunny word. 
And his love, by many a token. 

In my soul was stirred. 

a ^ 



^ 5^ 

MOTHER, FARE THEE WELL. 209 



Read once more that sweet narratiou 

I so love to hear, — 
How our Lord for man's salvation 

Left his heavenly sphere, 
How his precious love hath freed us, 

How his word can save, 
And how safely he will lead us 

Through the silent grave. 

When my voice in this dear mansion 

Is no longer heard. 
May thy soul, with pure expansion. 

Rest upon his word ; 
From its page a light is shining. 

And a holy spell. 
Which forbids the heart's repining : 

Mother, fare thee well ! 



14 



Sfi 



S¥EET MOTHER. 



c< 



\ 



in, V^^^^P'tQ^'CI mother, I seem gentle music to 
hear." 
" 'T is but fancy, my child ; turn to 

slumber again." 
" Nay, surely, 't is music ; hark, mother ! 
't is near ; 
It floats round my couch with its gladdening strain." 



" 'T is but fancy, my child ; let me moisten thy lips ; 

These breezes will temper thy feverish brow ; 
Some bee buzzes by, as its nectar it sips ; 

'T is nothing, my child, — thou wilt rest better now." 



SWEET MOTHER. 211 



" Then 't is nothing, dear mother, and yet sure it is sweet ; 

It comforts my soul, for it whispers of bliss : 
Were I dying, and angels my spirit would greet, 

They could not bring welcomer music than this. 

" And do you not hear it ? And do you not see 
Yon seraph that beckons me hence to the sky ? 

Perhaps, dearest mother, 'tis sent but to me: 
May I go if it calls ? may I yield it reply ? " 

Gentle babe, I come for thee ; 

I have come to bear thee home, 
Far from mortal agony ; 

Come, then, gentle infant, come ! 

Cool shall be that fervid cheek, 

Every tear be wiped away ; 
Ere the orient morning break. 

Thou shalt be in endless day. 

Yes, meek babe, 't was I that sang ; 

Heavenly anthems thou didst hear ; 
Strains to soothe thy dying pang, 

Hymns thy parting soul to cheer. 



-^ 



_____ . . . 5^ 

212 SWEET MOTHER. 

Tell her on whose tender breast 

Soft reclines thy fainting head, 
Thou shalt shortly be at rest, — 

Say not, numbered with the dead. 

No ; while o'er thy mouldering dust 

Falls the tear of earthly love, 
Thou shalt live, amidst the just. 

Brighter life in heaven above. 

Bid her, then, sweet babe, rejoice. 

That to her the boon is given. 
To resign, at Jesus's voice, 

One more cherub saint to heaven. 







9S- 



^- 



•^ 



CHILD OP THE ANGEL AVING, 



MRS. NICHOLS. 




SnT0 me a song as I fall asleep," 
Said a little one with a lustrous eye ; 

" Or tell me a tale of the flowers that peep 
In the bright woods that preach to the 

sky,— 

That peep in the spring, when the birdies sing, 
And the heavens are blue as our Nelly's eyes ; 

Or tell of the child with the angel wing. 
Who walks in the garden of Paradise." 



I sang him the song, I told him the tale, 

And watched by his couch till we thought he slept. 

And his cheek was white as the moonbeams pale. 
That, stealthy and bright, near his pillow crept ; 



m- 



.^—— — 5g 

214 CHILD OF THE ANGEL WING. 

Then my words grew few, and my voice sank low, 
And I said, " In thy dreams may the seraphs sing ! " 

But he whispered soft, as I rose to go, 

" tell me of the child with the angel wing ! " 

Then I sang again, — but he restless grew, 

And tossed his young arms as he wildly spoke. 
And a burning red to his forehead flew. 

As the moon went down and the morning broke ; 
But he spoke no more of the spirit's bright flowers, 

And he thought no more of his sister's eyes ; 
One name alone, in his feverish hours. 

Was breathed in a whisper that pierced the skies. 

" My mother," he said, — and his eyes waxed dim. 

For the sense, with a wavering lustre, fled, 
And he never knew that she knelt by him 

Whose sun went down at his dying bed ! 
He has gone where the seraphs sweetly sing, — 

His story was brief as the sunset dyes ; 
He walks with the child of the angel wing 

In the flowery gardens of Paradise ! 



THE CHILD^S DREAM. 

WILLIAM C. PRIME. 

It a calm and quiet sleep, 
[, Where the starbeams seem to keep 
Silent vigil holily, 
Lay a child in slumber deep : 
Pale was she, — - 
Pale and lovely, as the light 
Fell upon her forehead white. 

But at midnight she awoke. 
Smiled a peaceful smile, and spoke, 
In a voice so clear and low. 
That the silence seemed not broke ; 

Paint and slow 
From her lip fell tones of love. 
Such as angels use above. 




ds- 



216 THE child's dream. 

Come close to me, mother dear ! 
Let me whisper in jour ear 
What I 've seen to-night in dreams 1 
I saw heaven ! So fair and clear 

Now it seems, 
That my rest is gone, and I 
Must go hence, — so let me die. 

Angels stood there in my sight, 
In the God-sight full and bright, 
And above them stood the throne, — 
Ah ! that throne was pure and white. 

How it shone ! 
From it flowed Life's holy tide, — 
On it sat The Crucified. 

He looked toward me, — me, a child, — 
Held his hand to me and smiled, — 
Smiled a gracious smile, and spoke. 
I so joyful grew and wild, 

That I woke. 
'T was a dream-path then I trod. 
Now I go to be with God. 

-^ ^ 



THE CHILDS DREAM. 



217 



Hush ! No tears, sweet mother, now ! 
Press your warm lips on my brow, — 
Hold me in your arms once more ! 
Closer, closer ! — now I go 

To the shore 
Where falls life's last murmuring wave. 
Lay me gently in the grave. 




a- 



-^ 



%l^t Htntljtr's ^xui. 



IT BREAKS THY HEART 



KEBLE. 




01t leanest o'er thine infant's couch of 
pain ; 
It breaks thy heart to see 
The wan, glazed eye, the wasted arm, 
that fain 
Would reach and cling to thee. 
Yet is there quiet rest 
Prepared, upon the Saviour's breast. 
For little children, borne on Calvary to be blest. 



^- 



^- 



THE GATHERING SHADOWS. 




l0iOi0 night's gathering shadows 
Closed round a mother mild, 
Who, tearful and heavy-hearted, 
Watched by her dying child. 

Fevered and restless and moaning. 
On his little bed he lay. 
When the bright-winged angel drew near him, 
And kissed his last breath away. 



So softly the chain was severed. 
So gently was stayed the breath, 

It soothed the heart of the mourner. 
And she blessed the Angel of Death 



220 



THE GATHERING SHADOWS, 



For she knew that the soul of her darling 
Had gone to his Father above, 

Clasped in the arms more tender 
Than even her fondest love. 




^- 



AMY: 



THE DEATH-ANGEL AND THE LIFE-ANGEL. 



META LANDER. 

lESn thy hands, loving mother ! — the 
gi;] Death-angel passeth by ; 

Mournfully his shadow falleth o'er the 
beauty of that eye. 

Softly ! she is upward gazing, with a look of 

sweet delight, 
And those little hands are lifted, eager, to- 
ward the Presence bright. 

Angels twain are now beside her ; — o'er the pall, en- 
wrapping one. 
The new-comer sheds a glory sweeter than the set of sun. 




a- 



222 AMY. 

Let the angel Death enshroud her beauteous form in 

dreamless rest ; 
The Life-angel folds her spirit lovingly upon his breast, — 

Gently bears it upward, upward, to the far cerulean deep. 
Where the starry eyes of heaven nightly watch above us 
*keep. 



Up the shining angel-pathway, mother, lift thine aching 

eyes ! 
Now the pearl-gate they are passing : Amy is in Paradise ! 



On her crib soft lay the sleeper, all arrayed in lily-white ; 
Wondrous is her childish beauty, touched with a celestial 
light. 

In her waxen hand, so lovely, jDlace a snow-white rose-bud 

fair, — 
To the heart a touching emblem of thine Amy, slumbering 

there. 

Scatter o'er her sweetest blossoms, peeping out from leaves 

of green ; 
But, mother ! never flower was so sweet as she, I ween. 



92 

AMY. 223 

Gaze yet once upon thy darling ! all of life is there but 

breath ; 
Sweet, the weeping heart exclaimeth, as an infant's sleep 

is death. 

Ended now the burial service, — choral chant and organ 

swell ; 
Deep within, thy anguish-throbbing sadly tolls the parting 

knell. 

Fast the shadow falleth round thee ; they have borne the 

child away ; 
Hushed and darkened is thy dwelling, — mother ! clasp thy 

hands and pray. * 

Doth the cross upon thy bosom pangs inflict, and anguish 
sore ? 

In the cross is healing virtue, — wear it then for ever- 
more. 

O'er thy yearning, broken spirit there shall fall a holy rest. 
For thy youngest, fairest blossom bloometh on the Sav- 
iour's breast. 



ds ^ 



^- 



THIS IS A MOTHER^S GRIEF 




mark tlie suffering of the babe 

That cannot speak its woe ; 
To see the infant's tears gush forth, 

Yet know not why they flow ; 
To meet the meek, upHfted eye, 

That fain would ask relief, 
Yet can but tell of agony, — 

This is a mother's grief. 



Through dreary days, and darker nights, 
To trace the march of death ; 

To hear the faint and frequent sigh, 
The quick and shortened breath ; 



^- 



-^ 



^ 

THIS IS A mother's GRIEF. 225 



To watch the last dread strife draw near, 
And pray that struggle brief, 

Though all is ended with its close, — 
This is a mother's grief. 

To see in one short hour decayed 

The hope of future years ; 
To feel how vain a father's prayers. 

How vain a mother's tears ; 
To think the cold grave now must close 

O'er what was once the chief 
Of all the treasured joys of earth, — 

This is a mother's grief. 

Yet when the first wild throb is past 

Of anguish and despair. 
To lift the eye of faith to Heaven, 

And think. My child is there, — 
This best can dry the gushing tears, 

This gives the heart relief, 
Until the Christian's pious hope 

O'ercomes a mother's grief. 



15 



-^ 



^- 



BORN BUT TO DIE. 




XXlt infant was a poor, weak thing, — 
No strength those little arms to fling ; 
His cheek was pale and very thin, 
And none a smile from him could win 
Save I, — his mother ! my child ! 
How could they think my love so wild ? 

I never said it, but I knew, 
'^ From the first breath my baby drew, 
That I must soon my joy resign, — 
That he was God's, not mine, not mine ! 
But think you that I loved him less 
Because I saw his feebleness ? 



-^ 



BORN BUT TO DIE. 227 



To others senseless seemed his eye ; 
They looked, and only thought, " He '11 die. 
To me that little suffering frame 
Came freighted with a spirit's claim, — 
Came full of blessings to my heart, 
Brought thoughts I could to none impart. 

The pale, pale bud bloomed not on earth ; 
Blighted and stricken from his birth, 
A few short months upon my breast 
He lay, then smiled and went to rest : 
And all forgot him, born to die. 
All, all forgot, — save God and I. 




-^ 



^- 



M 



ASHES OP ROSES. ^^ 



FRANgES S. OSGOOD. 




M[tiIJ|£U that God would take my child ; 

I could not boar to see 
The look of suffering, strange and wild, 

with which she gazed on me : 
I prayed that God would take her back ; 

but ah ! I did not know 
What agony at last 't would be to let my 

darling go. 



She faded, — faded in my arms, and with a faint, slow sigh 
Her fair young spirit went away. Ah, God ! Ifelt her die ! 
But oh ! so lightly to her form Death's kindly angel came, 
It only seemed a zephyr passed, and quenched a taper's 
flame, — 



"ASHES OF ROSES." 229 

A little floiver might so have died ! so tranquilly she closed 
Her lovely mouth, and on my breast her helpless head 
reposed. 

Where'er I go, I hear her low and plaintive murmuring ; 

I feel her little fairy clasp around my finger cling ; 

For oh! it seemed the darling dreamed that, while she 

clung to me^ 
Safe from all harm of pain or death she could not help 

but be ; 
That /, who watched ui helpless grief my flower fade away. 
That I — ah Heaven ! — had life and strength to keep her 

from decay ! 

She clung there to the very last, — I knew that all was o'er, 
Only because that dear, dear hand could press mine own 

no more. 
God ! give back, give back my child ! but one, one hour, 

that I 
May tell her all my passionate love before I let her die ! 
Call not the prayer an impious one, for Thou didst fill my 

soul 
With this fond, yearning tenderness that nothing can 

control ! 



230 "ashes of roses." 

But say, instead, " Beside thy bed thy child's sweet spirit 

glides, 
For pitying Love has heard the prayer which Heavenly 

Wisdom chides." 

I know, — I know that she is blessed; but oh! I pine 

to see 
Once more the pretty, pleading smile she used to give to 

me; 
I pine to hear that low, sweet trill, with which, whene'er I 

came, 
Her little, soft voice called to me, half welcome and half 

blame ! 

I know her little heart is glad ; some gentle angel guides 
My loved one on the joyous way, where'er in heaven she 

glides ; 
Some angel far more wisely kind than ever I could be, 
With all my blind, wild mother-love, my Fanny, tends on 

thee ! 
And every sweet want of thy heart her care benign 

fulfils. 
And every" whispered wish for me with lulling love she 

stills. 



^ __ 

"ashes of roses." 231 

Upborne by its own purity, thy light form floats away, 
And heaven's fair children round it throng, and woo thee 

to their play, 
Where flowers of wondrous beauty rise, and birds of 

splendor rare, 
And balm and bloom and melody divinely fill the air. 

I hush my heart, I hide my tears, lest he my grief should 

guess. 
Who watched thee, darling, day and night with patient 

tenderness ; 
'T would grieve his generous soul to see this anguish, wild 

and vain. 
And he would deem it sin in me to wish thee back 

again ; 
But oh ! when I am all alone, I cannot calm my grief; 
I think of all tliy touching ways, and find a sweet re- 
lief; 
Thy dark blue wishful eyes look up once more into my 

own. 
Thy faint, soft smile one moment plays, one moment thrills 

thy tone. 
The next, the vision vanishes, and all is still and cold ; 
I see thy little, tender form — misery ! — in the mould ! 

56 ^ 



_ 5g 

232 "ashes of koses." 

I shut my eyes, and pitying Heaven a happier vision 

gives, 
Thy spirit dawns upon my dream, — I know my treasure 

lives. 

No, no ; I must not wish thee back, but might I go to 

thee ! 
Were there no other loved ones here, who need my love 

and me ; 
I am so weary of the world, its falsehood and its strife, 
So weary of the wrong and ruth that mar our human 

life! 
Where thou art, Fanny, all is love and peace and pure 

delight ; 
The soul that here must hide its face there lives serene 

in right ; 
And ever, in its lovely path, some new, great truth divine. 
Like a clear star, that dawns in heaven, undyingly doth 

shine. 

My child, while joy and wisdom go through that calm 

sphere with thee, 
0, wilt thou not sometimes look back my pining heart to 

see? 



^- 



"ashes of roses." 233 

For now a strange fear chills my soul — a feeling like 

despair — 
Lest tliou forget me 'mid those scenes, — thou dost not 

need me there ; 
Ah no ! the spirit-love that looked from those dear eyes 

of thine 
Was not of earth, — it could not die ! It still responds to 

mine! 
And it may be — (how thrills the hope through all my 

soul again !) — 
That I may tend my child in heaven, since here my watch 

was vain ! 



AH! LOOK THY LAST, POND MOTHER. 




U ! look thy last, fond mother, 

On the beauty of that brow ! 
For Death's cold hand is passing o'er 

Its marble stillness now. 
Those silken eyelids, weighing down 

Upon the glazed eye. 
Are telling to thine aching heart 

The lovely one must die ! 



Yes, mother of the dying one, 
The beautiful must go ! 

The pallid cheek, and fading eye. 
And trembling lip of snow, 



dS' 



^ _____ eg 

ah! look thy last, fond mother. 235 



Are signets from the hand of death, 

When unseen angels come, 
To bear the young and beautiful 
' To their own happy home. 



That soft white hand within thine own 

May never more entwine, — 
Those arms around the mother's neck. 

Like tendrils of the vine ; 
Those still, cold fingers never more, 

Along thy forehead fair, 
Shall dally with the raven curls 

That cluster thickly there. 



The flashes of its speaking eye. 

The music of its mirth. 
Shall never more make glad the hearts 

Around the parent's hearth. 
Then look thy last, fond mother. 

For the earth shall be above. 
And curtain up that sleeping one, — 

The first-born of thy love ! 



^' 



236 



ah! look thy last, fond mother, 



But let thy burning thoughts go forth, 

And pray that thou mayst meet 
That sinless one, when worlds shall bow 

Before the judgment-seat ; 
And pray that, when the wing of death 

Is shadowed on thy brow. 
Thy soul may be beside the one 

That sleepeth near thee now. 




^ 



^- 



-n 



0, THERE ARE RECOLLECTIONS 



C. BOWLES SOUTHEY. 




\tt^) little baby ! sleep ! 
Not in thy cradle-bed, 
Not on thy mother's breast, 
Henceforth shall be thy rest. 
But with the quiet dead ! 



Yes ! with the quiet dead. 
Baby, thy rest shall be : 

0, many a weary wight, 

Weary of life and light. 

Would fain lie down with thee ! 



-^^ 



238 O, THERE ARE RECOLLECTIONS 

Flee, little tender nursling, 
Flee to thy grassy nest ! 

There the first flower shall blow ; 

The first pure flake of snow 
Shall fall upon thy breast. 

Peace ! peace ! thy little bosom 

Labors with shortening breath ; 
Peace ! peace ! that tremulous sigh 
Speaks thy departure nigh, — 
These are the damps of death. 

I Ve seen thee in thy beauty, 
A thing all health and glee ; 

But never then wert thou 

So beautiful as now, 

Baby, thou seem'st to me. 

Mount up, immortal essence ! 

Young spirit, haste, depart ! — 
And is this death ? — dread thing ! 
If such thy visiting, 

How beautiful thou art ! 



-^ 



O, THERE ARE RECOLLECTIONS. 



239 



Thine upturned eyes, glazed over 

Like harebells wet with dew, 
Already veiled, and hid 
By the convulsed lid 

Their pupils darkly blue ; — 

Thy little mouth half open, 

Thy soft lip quivering. 
As if (like summer air ^ 

Ruffling the rose-leaves) there 

Thy soul were fluttering ; — 

0, 1 would gaze forever 

Upon that waxen face ; 
So passionless, so pure. 
The little shrine were sure 

An angel's dwelling-place ! 

Thou weepest, childless mother ! 

Ay, weep, — 't will ease thine heart ; 
He was thy first-born son. 
Thy first, thine only one, — 

'T is hard with him to part ! 

ds ^ 



240 O, THERE ARE RE C O L L E CT ION C. 

'T is hard to lay thy darling 
Deep in the damp, cold earth ; 

His empty crib to see, 

His silent nursery, 

Once gladsome with his mirth ; — 

To meet again, in slumber. 

His small mouth's rosy kiss ; 
Then, wakened with a start 
By thine own throbbing heart, 
His twining arms to miss ; — 

To feel, half conscious why, 

A dull, heart-sinking weight. 
Till memory on thy soul 
Flashes the painful whole, 
That thou art desolate ; — 

And then to lie and weep, 

And think, the livelong night, 
(Feeding thine own distress 
With accurate greediness,) 
Of every past delight, — 



ds 



w.— 

O, THERE ARE RECOLLECTIONS. 241 

Of all his winning ways, 

His pretty, playful smiles, 
His joy at sight of thee, 
His tricks, his mimicry. 

And all his little wiles ! 



0, there are recollections 

Round mothers' hearts that cling ! 
That mingle with the tears 
And smiles of after years. 

With oft aAvakening. 



But thou wilt then, fond mother ! 

In after years look back, 
(Time brings such wondrous easing !) 
With sadness not unpleasing. 

E'en on this gloomy track. 

Thou 'It say, " My first-born blessing, 

It almost broke my heart. 
When thou wert forced to go. 
And yet for thee I know 

'T was better to depart. 

16 



^- 



■^ 



242 O, THERE ARE RECOLLECTIONS. 

" God took thee in liis mercy, 
A lamb uiltasked, untried ; 

He fought the fight for thee, 

He won the victory, 
And thou art sanctified. 

" I look around and see 

The evil ways of men, 
And oh ! beloved child, 
I 'm more than reconciled 

To thy departure then. 

" The little arms that clasped me, 
The innocent lips that pressed, — 

Would they have been as pure. 

Till now, as when of yore 
I lulled thee on my breast ? 

" Now like a dew-drop shrined 

Within a crystal stone. 
Thou 'rt safe in heaven, my dove ! 
Safe with the source of love, 

The Everlasting One. 



^- 



O, THERE ARE RECOLLECTIONS. 



243 



" And when the hour arrives 

From flesh that sets me free, 
Thy spirit may await — 
The first at heaven's gate — 
To meet and welcome me." 




^- 



^-. 



HE SLUMBERS LONG, SWEET MOTHER, 



MRS. SIGOUENEY, 




^^tei-- 



t slumbers long, sweet mother, 
/ Upon thy gentle breast ; 
Thou 'rt weary now with watching ; 
Sweet mother, go to rest : 
There seems no pain to stir him, 

The peril sure is past. 
For see ! his soft hand clasped in thine. 
He heeds nor storm nor blast. 

Why dost thou gaze so wildly ? 

Why strain thy strong embrace ? 
Unlock thy fearful clasping. 

And let me see his face. 



^- 



HE SLUMBERS LONG, SWEET MOTHER. 245 

So down that mother laid him 

In her agony of care, 
And kissed that cold and marble brow 

With calm and fixed despair. 

weep ! — there's holy healing 

In every gushing tear, 
Nor question thus that beauteous clay ; 

The angel is not here : 
No shut of rose at even-tide 

Was with a peace so deep. 
As thus thy youngest, fairest one 

Sank down in dove-like sleep. 

Where best he loved to hide him, 

In that dear sheltering spot. 
Just there his tender spirit passed, — 

Passed and she knew it not. 
His fond lip never trembled. 
Nor sighed the parting breath 
When strangely for his nectared draught 

He drank the cup of death. 

Full was thy lot of blessing 
To charm his cradle hours. 



^ — 

246 HE SLUMBERS LONG, SWEET MOTHER. 



To touch his sparkling fount of thought, 
And breathe his breath of flowers, 

And take the daily lesson. 

From the smile that breathed so free, 

Of what in holier, brighter realms 
The pure in heart must be. 

No more thy twilight musing 

May with his image shine. 
When in that lonely hour of love 

He laid his cheek to thine. 
So still and so confiding 

That cherished babe would be. 
So like a sinless guest from heaven. 

And yet a part of thee 1 

But now his blessed portion 

Is o'er the cloud to soar. 
And spread a never-wearied wing 

Where sorrows are no more, — 
With cherubim and seraphim 

To tread the ethereal plain : 
High honor hath it been to thee 

To swell that glorious train. 



-m 



-5g 



THE MOTHER^S SACRIFICE 



MRS. SIGOURNEY. 

iTdt shall I render thee, Father Supreme, 
For thy rich gifts, and this the best of 

^>=5- .d"--^ ^ Said a young mother, as she fondly 
watched 
Her sleeping babe. 

There was an answering voice 
That night in dreams. 

" Thou hast a tender flower. 
Wrapt in thy breast, and fed with dews of love. 
Give me that flower. Such flowers there are in heaven." 
But there was silence. Yea, a hush so deep, 
Breathless and terror-stricken, that the lip 
Blanched in its trance. 




^ — 

248 THE mother's sacrifice. 

" Thou hast a little harp, — 
How sweetly would it swell the angels' song ! 
Lend me that harp." 

Then burst a shuddering sob, 
As if the bosom by some hidden sword 
Was cleft in twain. 

Morn came. A blight had found 
The crimson-velvet of the unfolding bud. 
The harp-strings rang a thrilling strain and broke, 
And that young mother lay upon the earth 
In childless agony. 

Again the voice 
That stirred her vision. 

" He who asked of thee 
Loveth a cheerful giver." 

So she raised 
Her gushing eye, and ere the tear-drop dried 
Upon its fringes, smiled. 

And that smile, 
Like Abraham's faith, was counted righteousness. 



BABIE BELL; 

THE POEM OF A LITTLE LIFE THAT WAS BUT THREE 
APRILS LONG. 

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. 




IXbt you not heard the poet tell 
y How came the dainty Babie Bell 
(# Into this world of ours ? 

The gates of heaven were left ajar : 
"With folded hands and dreamy eyes, 
Wandering out of Paradise, 
She saw this planet, like a star, 

Hung in the purple depths of even, — 
Its bridges, running to and fro, 
O'er which the white-winged Angels go. 
Bearing the holy Dead of Heaven ! 
She touched a bridge of flowers, — those feet 
So light they did not bend the bells 
Of the celestial asphodels ! 



250 



BABIE BELL. 



They fell like dew upon the flowers, 

And all the air grew strangely sweet ! 
And thus came dainty Bahie Bell 
Into this world of ours ! 

II. 

She came and brought delicious May. 

The swallows built beneath the eaves ; 

Like sun-light in and out the leaves, 
The robins went, the livelong day ; 
The lily swung its noiseless bell. 

And o'er the porch the trembling vine 

Seemed bursting with its veins of wine ! 
How sweetly, softly, twilight fell ! 
earth was full of singing birds, 

And happy spring-tide flowers, 
When the dainty Babie Bell 

Came to this world of ours ! 

III. 

Babie, dainty Babie Bell ! 
How fair she grew from day to day ! 

What woman nature filled her eyes, 
What poetry within them lay ! 



-?g 



5e 

BABIE BELL. 251 



Those deep and tender twilight eyes, 

So full of meaning, pure and bright 

As if she yet stood in the light 
Of those oped gates of Paradise ! 

And we loved Babie more and more ; 

Ah, never in our hearts before 

Was love so lovely born ! 
We felt we had a link between 
This real world and that unseen, — 

The land beyond the morn. 
And for the love of those dear eyes, 

For love of her whom God led forth, 

(The mother's being ceased on earth 
When Babie came from Paradise !) 
For love of Him who smote our lives, 

And woke the chords of joy and pain, 
We said, " Sweet Christ ! " — our hearts bent down 

Like violets after rain. 

IV. 

And now the orchards which in June 

Were white and rosy in their bloom — 

Filling the crystal veins of air 

With gentle pulses of perfume — 



^ 

252 BABIE BELL. 



Were rich in Autumn's mellow prime ; 

The plums were globes of honeyed wine, — 

The hived sweets of summer-time ! 

The ivory chestnut burst its shell ; 

The soft-cheeked peaches blushed and fell. 

The grapes were purpling in the grange, 

And time brought just as rich a change 

In little Babie Bell ! 
Her tiny form more perfect grew, 

And in her features we could trace, 

In softened curves, her mother's face ; 
Her angel nature ripened too. 
We thought her lovely when she came. 

But she was holy, saintly now .... 

Around her pale, angelic brow 
We saw a slender ring of flame ! 

V. 

God's hand had taken away the seal 

Which held the portals of her speech ; 

And oft she said a few strange words. 

Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. 

She never was a child to us. 

We never held her being's key ! 



BABIE BELL. 253 



We could not teach lier holy things : 
She was Christ's self in purity ! 

VI. 

It came upon us by degrees ; 

We saw its shadow ere it fell, 
The knowledge that our God had sent 

His messenger for Babie Bell ! 
We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, 

And all our hopes were changed to fears, 

And all our thoughts ran into tears, 
Like sunshine into rain ! 

We cried aloud in our belief, 
" 0, smite us gently, gently, God ! 
Teach us to bend and kiss the rod. 

And perfect grow through grief." 
Ah ! how we loved her, God can tell ; 
Her little heart was cased in ours ! 

Our hearts are broken, Babie Bell ! 

YII. 

At last he came, the messenger. 

The messenger from unseen lands ; 



-m 



254 



BABIE BELL. 



And what did dainty Babie Bell ? 

She only crossed her little hands, 
She only looked more meek and fair ! 
We parted back her silken hair ; 
We laid some buds upon her brow, — 
White buds, the summer's drifted snow. 
Death's bride, arrayed in flowers ! 
And thus went dainty Babie Bell 

Out of this world of ours ! 




>^^ 



-^ 



^ 



-ss 



itatxits 



-»^!gt^*^— 



HEART-HUSHINGS. 



SWAN 



asll in faith! Against the ill thou 
dreadest 
Comes white-robed Peace, sweet angel 
^ ^/U^ of God's will, 

^ Folding her wing beside thee while thou plead- 
est. 
Whispering as God's own word to thee, — 
"Be still!" 

Be still ! " — how fearfully soever blended 
Thy day with dark, like twilight's flickered bars ; 
For God will make thy deepest midnight splendid. 
With all his sapphire wealth of quenchless stars. 




^ 



SAVIOUR! HEAR AND AID. 



MES. HEMANS. 




^^^^sw '|0j0]^j;' I i]^Qj^ of woman born, 
Mother-sorrow didst not scorn, 
Thou with whose last anguish strove 
One dear thought of earthly love, — 
Hear, and aid ! 

Low she lies, my precious child, 
With her spirit wandering wild. 
From its gladsome tasks and play. 
And its bright thoughts far away : — 
Saviour, aid ! 

Pain sits heavy on her brow. 
E'en though slumber seal it now ; 
Round her lip is quivering strife, 
In her hand, unquiet life : — 

Aid, aid! 



^ 



^ . <^ 

saviour! hear and aid. 257 

Saviour ! loose the burning chain 
From her fevered heart and brain ; 
Give, give her young soul back 
Into its own cloudless track ! 

Hear, and aid ! 

Thou that saidst, " Awake, arise ! " 
E'en when death had quenched the eyes, 
In this hour of grief's deep sighing. 
When o'erwearied hope is dying, — 
% Hear, and aid ! 

Yet make her thine, all thine. 
Saviour ! wliether death's or mine ! 
Yet pour on human love 
Strength, trust, patience from above ! 
Hear, and aid I 



17 



■1^ 



-^ 



GOD'S WILL BE DONE 




all is done that love and care 
And skilful kindness could suggest ; 
And He, who heard our anxious prayer, 

Will answer as his love thinks best : 
that both hopes and fears were still, 
Waiting on his mysterious will ! 

And yet both hopes and fears will crowd 
Around that bright and precious child ; 
And both will speak their thoughts aloud. 

Till this distracted heart is wild : 
might they all give place to one 
Heart-filling prayer, — " God's will be done ! " 



^- 



■^. 



^ 

god's will be done. 259 

Sometimes a dream of what may be 

Comes, like soft sunshine, o'er the heart ; 

I hear his prattle at my knee, 

Feel his warm cheek near mine, and start 

To find it — ah ! so cold and pale, 

That hope (and well-nigh faith) doth fail. 

And then again the dream returns, — 
Childhood and youth are safely o'er ; 

His eye with manhood's ardor burns. 
Fears hover round his path no more ; 

Hopes, with their buds and blossoms, all 

Burst where his bounding footsteps fall. 

He seems to speak, — with anxious ear, 

My very heart waits breathless by ; 
His lips are parted, — and I hear. 

My precious child, thy restless cry ; — 
E'en hope, affrighted, flees away. 
As if it had no heart to stay. 

Come, then, my God, and take the place 
Of these distracting hopes and fears ; 

'Stablish this trembling heart with grace. 
Dry with thine hand these falling tears. 



-^ 



^- 



260 



■se 



GOD S WILL BE DONE, 



And teach me to confide in thee 

The treasure thou couldst trust with me. 



Happy if, rescued from the strait 
Of being called on to decide, 

Here, with submissive soul, I wait, 
By thy decision to abide, — 

Life, with its blessings and its pain, 

Or death, with its " to die is gain." 




-U 



'<^ 



MAY ANGELS WATCH. 




on, my boy, and o'er thy fevered brow 
May gentle angels keep their silent watch ; 
May He who is the Lord of angels bend 
His pitying eye, and give thee soothing 
sleep. 
0, may He breathe around thy lan- 
guid form 
Benignant health, if such His holy will ; 
Yet good that holy will, though sickness sore 
Should linger, — even sickness unto death ! 
My child, my treasure, I have given thee up 
To Him who gave thee me ! Ere yet thine eye 
Rested with conscious love upon thy mother. 
Long ere thy lips could gently sound her name. 
She gave thee up to God ; she sought for thee 



2G2 MAY ANGELS WATCH. 

One boon alone, that thou might' st be His child, — 

His child sojourning on this distant land, 

His child above the blue and radiant sky. 

'T is all I ask for thee, beloved one, still. 

Perchance, in some fond hour, this heart may wish 

High intellect to beam around thy brow, 

And all that earth counts joy to tend thy steps ; 

Perchance I wish thy bright blue eye may cheer 

The remnant of my solitary path, 

That I may watch thy opening character 

Expanding like thy father's, bright and pure, 

The Christian and the scholar ; yet, my boy. 

All these fond wishes of thy mother's heart 

Are merged in one, that thou may'st be His child. 

His own devoted child, to spread His glory, 

Whether in earth's dark places, or on high, 

In labors such as holy angels know. 

And He will hear the prayer, — He will accept 

The offering He hath strengthened me to make. 

Even thus, of old, a babe was offered up, — 

Young Samuel, for the service of His Temple ; 

Nor He refused the boon, but poured on him 

The anointing of all gifts and graces meet 

For his high office. So may'st thou, my child, 



52 

MAY ANGELS WATCH. 263 



In thine own humble sphere, be consecrate. 
Sleep on, then, dearest; safe from peril, — safe, 
Though sickness be thy lot. In hfe or death, 
Be but His arms around thee, thou art safe. 
0, it is bliss to live, even on earth. 
Laboring for Him, — gathering His elect in, 
From a dark sinful world, to His dear fold 1 
And it is bliss to die, — to soar on wings 
Of seraph to His bright, celestial throne,— 
To bend, adoring, at the fount of light,— 
To dwell forever in its blaze ! My child, 
This is the blessedness I ask for thee. 



^- 



LET ME BE SPARED THIS ANGUISH 



KNICKERBOCKER. 



^P0to in the twilight, when the hush of night 
Is falling gently on the misty earth, 
And the far clay-beam's slowly sinking 
light 
Fadeth away from the dim star's birth ; 
When deepening shadows gather close 
around, 
And not a human eye is near to see, — 
Father in heaven ! I bow me to the 
ground, 
ind humbly lift my soul in prayer to Thee ! 




Thou, who canst give the wounded spirit rest. 
Send down thy peace upon my wearied heart ; 



LET ME BE SPARED THIS ANGUISH. 265 

Aid me to still the tumult of my breast, 
And calmly bear with my allotted part ; 

hear me, Father ! hear thine erring child ! 
Gird me with strength to meet this chastening blow ; 

Let not my heart, so passionate and wild, 
Sink down beneath its heavy weight of woe. 

1 know that I have given to human love 
The early freshness of my young heart's flow, 

And turned away from sparkling founts above, 

To fill my cup with bitterness below ; 
Yet now in dust is laid my sinful pride ; 

My Father ! crush me not beneath thy hand : 

let me in some other way be tried. 
And do not thou this sacrifice demand ! 

Let me be spared this anguish ; let my heart 
With holier love still to its idol cling ; 

1 could not see his gasping breath depart, 
I could not watch his wrestling soul take wing ; 

spare, in mercy spare him ! — do not say 
He must go down in all his life's young bloom, 

To that dark place of never-coming day. 

That voiceless prison-house, the silent tomb ! 



^ 



^- 



-5g 



266 



LET ME BE SPARED THIS ANGUISH, 



But if thy holy wisdom hath decreed 

My dearest hopes when grasped should from me glide, 
Let not thy strong sustaining arm recede ; 

Uphold me, or I sink beneath the tide ! 
Lead me to thank thee that from dreams I woke, 

Which led my straying soul so far from Thee ; 
Lead me to meekly bow before thy stroke, 

And humbly bless Thee for my misery 1 




^ 



^- 



BLESSED BE MY BABY-BOY! 



L. A. H. 




irksS,Ctr be my baby-boy ! " 
Thus spake a mother to her child, 

And kissed him with excess of joy, 
Then looked upon his face and smiled. 



Then, as the mother breathed his name, 
The fervent prayer was scarcely said, 

Convulsions shook his infant frame. 
The mother's only babe was dead. 

But still her faith in Him she kept, 
In Him who turned to grief her joy : 

And still she whispered as she wept, 
" blessed is my baby-boy ! " 



^ 



-^ 



5g 



SEND DOWN THINE ANGEL 



BAREY COENWALL. 

^^P)£UU down thy winged angel, God ! 
Amidst this night so wild ; 
And bid him come where now we watch, 
And breathe upon our child ! 

She lies upon her pillow, pale, 
She moans within her sleep. 
Or waketh with a patient smile, 
And striveth not to weep ! 




How gentle and how good a child 
She is, we know too well. 

And dearer to her parents' hearts 
Than our weak words can tell. 



^- 



^- 



5^. 



SEND DOWN THINE ANGEL. 



2C9 



We love, — we watch throughout the night, 

To aid, when need there be ; 
We hope, — we have despaired at times, 

But now we turn to Thee ! 

Send down thy sweet-souled angel, God ! 

Amid the darkness wild ; 
And bid him soothe our souls to-night, 

And heal our gentle child. 




%■ 



FATHER, SAY, ''PEACE! BE STILL!^^ 



MRS. HEMANS. 



nb thou, my God ! 

hear and pardon me ! If I have made 
This treasure, sent from thee, too much 

the ark 
Fraught with mine earthward clinging 
happiness, 
getting Him who gave, and might resume, 
.rdon me ! 

If nature hath rebelled, 
J ^ And from the light turned wilfully away, 
Making a midnight of her agony. 
When the despairing passion of her clasp 
Is from its idol stricken at one touch 
Of thine Almighty hand, — pardon me ! 
By thy Son's anguish, pardon ! In the soul, 
The tempests and the waves will know thy voice : — 
Father, say, " Peace ! be still ! " 




-K 



9^ 



FORGIVE, FORGIVE! 



SILENT COMFORTER. 




(iDuOlt^ that wilt not break the bruised 
reed, 
Nor heap fresh ashes on the mourner's 
brow, 
Nor rend anew the wounds that inly bleed, 

The only balm of our afflictions. Thou ; 
Teach me to bear thy chastening wrath, God ! 
To kiss with quivering lips, — still humbly kiss 
thy rod ! 



Forgive, forgive, even should my full heart break ; 

The broken heart Thou wilt not, Lord, despise ; 
Thou art still too gracious to forsake. 

Though thy strong hand so heavily chastise. 
Hear all my prayers, hear not my murmurs. Lord, 
And though my lips rebel, still make thyself adored ! 



dd 



^- 



-n 



ISOBEL^S CHILD 



E. B. BEOWNING. 



" So find we profit, 
By losing of our prayers." 

Shakespeare. 




rest the weaiy nurse lias gone ; 

An eight-day watch had watched slie, 
Rocking beneath the sun and moon 

The baby on her knee : 
Till Isobel, its mother, said, 
" The fever waneth, — wend to bed, — 
For now the watch comes round to mc." 



And more and more smiled Isobel 
To see the baby sleep so well, — 
She knew not that she smiled. 
Against the lattice, dull and wild, 



56- 



isobel's child. 273 



Drive the heavy droning drops, 

Drop by drop, the sound being one, — 

As momently time's segments fall 

On the ear of God, who hears through all 

Eternity's unbroken monotone. 
And more and more smiled Isobel 
To see the baby sleep so well, — 

She knew not that she smiled. 



She knew not that the storm was wild, 
Through the uproar drear she could not hear 
The castle clock which struck anear, — 
She heard the light, low breathing of her child. 



Motionless she sat : 
Her hair had fallen by its weight 
On each side of her smile, and lay 
Yery blackly on the arm 
Where the baby nestled warm ; 
Pale as baby carved in stone, 
Seen by glimpses of the moon 
Up a dark cathedral aisle : 

18 



274 isobel's child. 



But through the storm, no moonbeam fell 
Upon the child of Isobel, — 
Perhaps you saw it by the ray 
Alone of her still smile. 



More soft, less solemn images 
Drifted o'er the lady's heart, 

Silently as snow : 
She had seen eight days depart 
Hour by hour on bended knees, 
With pale-wrung hands and prayings low 
And broken, — through which came the sound 
Of tears that fell against the ground, 
Making sad stops: " Dear Lord, dear Lord ! " 
She still had prayed, — (the heavenly word 
Broken by an earthly sigh,) — 
" Thou who didst not erst deny 
The mother-joy to Mary mild. 
Blessed in the blessed child. 
Which hearkened in meek babyhood 
Her cradle hymn, albeit used 
To all that music interfused 
In breasts of angels high and good ! 



^ ^ 5g 

isobel's child. 275 

take not, Lord, mj babe away, — 
take not to thy songful heaven 
The pretty baby thou hast given, 
Or ere that I have seen him play 
Around his father's knees, and known 
That he knew how my love hath gone 

From all the world to him. 
And how that I shall shiver, dim 
In the sunshine, thinking e'er 
The grave-grass keeps it from his fair. 
Still cheeks ! and feel at every tread 
His little body, which is dead ^X 

And hidden in the turfy fold. 
Doth make the whole warm earth acold ! 

God ! I am so young, so young I 

1 am not used to tears at nights 
Instead of slumber, — nor to prayer 
With shaken lips, and hands out-wrung ! 
Thou knowest all my prayings were, 
(I bless thee, God, for past delights,) 
' Thank God ! ' I am not used to bear 
Hard thoughts of death ! The earth doth cover 
No face from me of friend or lover ! 
And must the first who teacheth me 

^ _ — ^ — ___ -^ 



m- — 

276 isobel's child, 



The form of shrouds and funerals he 
Mine own first-horn heloved, — he 
Who taught me first this mother love ? 
Dear Lord, who spreadest out ahove 
Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet 
All lifted hearts with hlessing sweet. 
Pierce not my heart, my tender heart, 
Thou madest tender ! Thou who art 
So happy in thy heaven alway, 
Take not mine only hliss away." 

She so had prayed : and God, who hears 

Through seraph-songs the sound of tears, 

From that heloved habe had ta'en 

The fever and the beating j)ain. 

And more and more smiled Tsobel 

To see the baby sleep so well, — 

She knew not that she smiled : 

Until the pleasant gradual thought 

Which near her heart the smile enwrought, 

(Soon strong enough her lips to reach,) 

Now soft and slow, itself did seem 

To float along, a happy dream, 

I Beyond it, into speech : — 

I 

d^- — ^ 



isobel's child. 277 

" I prayed for thee, my little child, 
And God hath heard my prayer ! 
And when thy babyhood is gone, 
We two together, nndefiled 
By men's repinings, will kneel down 
Upon His earth, which will be fair 
(Not covering thee, sweet !) to us twain. 
And give Him thankful praise." 



The tame hawk in the castle yard, 
How it screams to the lightning, with its wet 
Jagged plumes overhanging the parapet ! 
And at the lady's door the hound 

Scratches with a crying sound. 

" But my babe, thy lids are laid 

Close, fast upon thy cheek, — 
And not a dream of power and sheen 
Can make a passage up between : 
Thy heart is of thy mother's made, — 

Thy looks are very meek ! 
And it will be their chosen place 
To rest on some beloved face, 



^ ___ _ _5^ 

278 isobel's child. 

As these on thine, — and let the noise 
Of the whole world go on, nor drown 
The tender silence of thy joys ! 
Or when that silence shall have grown 
Too tender for itself, the same 
Yearning for sonnd, — to look above, 
And utter its one meaning. Love, 
That He may hear His name ! " 

No wind, — no rain, — no thunder ! 

The waters had trickled not slowly, 

The thunder was not spent, 

Nor the wind near finishing. 
"Who would have said that the storm was diminishing ? 

No wind, — no rain, — no thunder ! 

Their noises dropped asunder 

From the earth and the firmament, 

From the towers and the lattices. 

Abrupt and echoless, 
As ripe fruits on the ground, unshaken wholly, — 
As life in death ; 

And sudden and solemn the silence fell. 

Startling the heart of Isobel 
As the tempest could not. 



^ 



isobel's child. 279 

Against the door went panting the breath 
Of the lady's hound whose cry was still, — 
And she, constrained, howe'er she would not, 
Lifted her eyes and saw the moon 
Looking out of heaven alone 
Upon the poplar ed hill, — 
A calm of God made visible, 
That men might bless it at their will. 

The moonshine on the baby's face 

Falleth clear and cold 
The mother's looks have fallen back 

To the same place : 
Because no moon with silver rack. 
Nor broad sunrise in jasper skies, 

Have power to hold 

Our loving eyes, 
Which still revert, as ever must 
Wonder and Hope, to gaze on the dust. 

The moonshine on the baby's face 

Cold and clear remaineth ! 
The mother's looks do shrink away, 
The mother's looks return to stay, 



^ ^ ^ 

280 isobel's child. 

As charmed by what paineth. 
Is any glamour in the case ? 
Is it dream, or is it sight ? 
Hath the change upon the wild 
Elements, that signs the night, 

Passed upon the child ? 
It is not dream, but sight ! 

The babe has awakened from sleep, 
And unto the gaze of its mother, 
Bent over it, lifted another ! 
Not the baby-looks that go 
Unaimingly to and fro ; 
But an earnest gazing deep. 
Such as soul gives soul at length, 
When, by work and wail of years, 
It winneth a solemn strength, 
And mourneth as it wears ! 
A strong man could not brook, 
With pulse unhurried by fears, 
To meet that baby's look 
O'erglazed by manhood's tears, — 
The tears of a man full grown. 
With a power to wring our own. 



isobel's child. 281 



In the eyes all undefiled 

Of a little three-months child ! 

To see that babe-brow wrought 

By witnessing of thought 

To judgment's prodigy ; 

And the small soft mouth unweaned, 

By mother's kiss o'erleaned, 

(Putting the sound of loving 

Where no sound else was moving, 
Except the speechless cry,) 
Quickened to mind's expression, 
Shaped to articulation, — 

Yea, uttering words, — yea, naming woe 

In tones that with it strangely went. 

Because so baby-innocent. 

As the child spake out to the mother so ! 



" mother, mother ! loose thy prayer ! 

Christ's name hath made it strong ! 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me 
With its most loving cruelty. 
From floating my new soul along 

The happy heavenly air ! 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me 



ds- 



282 ISOBELS CHILD. 



In all this dark, upon this dull 
Low earth, by only weepers trod ! — 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me ! — 
Mine angel looketh sorrowful 
Upon the face of God. 

" Mother, mother ! can I dream 

Beneath your earthly trees ? 

I had a vision and a gleam, — 

I heard a sound more sweet than these 

When rippled by the wind ! 
Did you see the Dove with whigs 
Bathed in golden glistenings 
From a sunless light behind 
Dropping on me from the sky. 
Soft as a mother's kiss, until 
I seemed to leap, and yet was still ? 
Saw you how His love-large eye 
Looked upon the mystic calms, 
Till the power of his divine 
Vision was indrawn to mine ? 

" the dream within the dream ! 
I saw celestial places even ! 

^ ^ 



isobel's child. 283 

the vistas of high pahns, 
Making finites of delight 
Through the heavenly infinite, — 
Lifting lip their green, still tops 

To the heaven of heaven ! 
the sweet life-tree that drops 
Shade like light across the river, 
Glorified in its forever 

Flowing from the Throne ! 
the shining holinesses 
Of the thousand thousand faces 
God-sunned by the throned One ! 
And made intense with such a love, 
That though I saw them turned above, 
Each loving seemed for also me ! 
And the Unspeakable ! the He, — 
The manifest in secrecies. 
Yet of mine own heart partaker, — 
With the overcoming look 
Of one who hath been once forsook, 

And blesseth the forsaker ! 
Mother, mother, let me go 
Toward the face that looketh so ! 
Through the mystic, winged Four, 



• ■ ^ — Sg 

284 isobel's child. 

Whose are inward, outward eyes 

Dark with light of mysteries, 

And the restless evermore 

' Holy, holy, holy,' — through 

The sevenfold Lamps that burn in view 

Of cherubim and seraphim, — 

Through the four-and-twenty crowned 

Stately elders white around, 

Suffer me to go to Him ! 

'^ Is your wisdom very wise, 
Mother, on the narrow earth ? 
Yery happy, very worth 
That I should stay to learn ? 
Are these air-corrupting sighs 
Fashioned by unlearned breath ? 
Do the students' lamps that burn 
All night illumine death ? 
Mother ! albeit this be so. 
Loose thy prayer and let me go 
Where that bright chief angel stands 
Apart from all his brother bands. 
Too glad for smiling, having bent 
In angelic wilderment 



^ _ 52 

isobel's child. 285 

O'er the dejDths of God, and brought 

Eeeling thence one only thought 

To fill his whole eternity ! 

He the teacher is for me ! — 

He can teach what I would know, 

Mother, mother, let me go ! 



" Can your poet make an Eden 

No winter will undo ? 
And light a starry fire, while heeding 

His hearth's is burning too ? 
Drown in music the earth's din. 
And keep his own wild soul within 
The law of his own harmony ? — 

Mother ! albeit this be so 

Let me to mine Heaven go ! 

A little harp me waits thereby, — 

A harp whose strings are golden all, 

And tuned to music spherical. 

Hanging on the green life-tree. 

Where no willows ever be. 

Shall I miss that harp of mine ? 

Mother, no ! the Eye divine 

m — j^ 



§fi sg 

286 isobel's child. 

Turned upon it makes it shine, — 
And when I touch it, poems sweet 
Like separate souls shall fly from it, 
Each to an immortal fytte. 
We shall all be poets there, 
Gazing on the chiefest Fair ! 



" Love ! earth's love ! and can we love 
Fixedly where all things move ? 
Can the sinning love each other? 

Mother, mother ! 
I tremble in thy close embrace, — 
I feel thy tears adown my face, — 
Thy prayers do keep me out of bliss, — 

dreary, earthly love ! 
Loose thy prayer, and let me go 
To the place which loving is. 
Yet not sad ! and when is given 
Escape to thee from this below, 
Thou shalt behold me that I wait 
For thee beside the happy gate ; 
And silence shall be up in heaven 

To hear our greeting kiss." 



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5g 

isobel's child. 287 



The nurse awakes in the morning sun, 
And starts to see, beside her bed, 
The lady, with a grandeur spread, 
Like pathos, o'er her face, — as one 
God-satisfied and earth-undone : 
The babe upon her arm was dead ! 
And the nurse could utter forth no cry, — 
She was awed by the calm in the mother's eye. 

" Wake, nurse ! " — the lady said : 
" We are waking, — he and I, — 
I on earth, and he in sky ! 
And thou must help me to o'erlay 
With garment white this little clay, 
Which needs no more our lullaby. 

" I changed the cruel prayer I made. 

And bowed my meekened face, and prayed 

That God would do His will ! and thus 

He did it, nurse, — He parted us. 

And His sun shows victorious 

The dead calm face : — and I am calm : 

And Heaven is hearkening a new psalm. 



m 



288 



isobel's child. 



" This earthly noise is too anear, 
Too loud, and will not let me hear 
The little harp. My death will soon 
Make silence." 

And a sense of tune 
A satisfied love meanwhile, 
Which nothing earthly could despoil, 
Sang on within her soul. 

you, 
Earth's tender and impassioned few, 
Take courage to entrust your love 
To Him so Named, who guards above 

Its ends, and shall fulfil ; 
Breaking the narrow prayers, that may 
Befit your narrow hearts, away 

In His broad, loving will. 




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